


"In the Course of Justice" and "Wigglewort"

by fmlyhntr, jamelia116, Penny_P, Voyager_Virtual Season_7-5_Staff_Writers (jamelia116)



Series: Voyager Virtual Season 7.5 [32]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Courtroom Drama, F/M, Returning Home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-23 00:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20883065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fmlyhntr/pseuds/fmlyhntr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamelia116/pseuds/jamelia116, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penny_P/pseuds/Penny_P, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamelia116/pseuds/Voyager_Virtual%20Season_7-5_Staff_Writers
Summary: "In the Course of Justice" by Penny:Voyagerhas finally returned home. The welcome home parades and holiday festivities are over. What comes next?"Wigglewort" by Christina,a related short: Kathryn won't feel truly at home until she meets up with a very dear friend.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: When first written, this story benefitted greatly from the input and editing offered by Rocky, Cybermum, and the whole 7.5 team. It was an extraordinary collaboration highlighted by courtesy, respect, humor, and no ego. I learned a lot working with these talented writers on our first two “seasons,” and I was glad when our adventure continued. - Penny
> 
> And naturally, we need to include that all-important Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom/CBS own all of Star Trek. We don't. But we did wonder what the crew may have faced after _Voyager_ finally returned home.

**In The Course of Justice**  
  
**by Penny**

  
_"Therefore...though justice be thy plea, consider this:  
that, in the course of justice, none of us should see salvation..._  
_(The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene 1)_

** PROLOGUE **   
  
**Friday, January 11, 2380**

> ****ORDERS**ORDERS**ORDERS****  
  
DATE: January 11, 2380  
TO: The Officers and Crew of _USS_ _Voyager  
_FROM: Hayes, J. Adm./CinC/SFC
> 
> **BY ORDER OF STARFLEET COMMAND:**  
  
Effective IMMEDIATELY, you are hereby ORDERED to remain sequestered from all contact with all witnesses and potential witnesses who may be called to testify before the Board of Review examining the command of _USS_ _Voyager_ by Janeway, Kathryn M., Captain. You will not converse, correspond, or otherwise make contact with the individuals listed on Exhibit A, attached hereto. Exceptions are made for persons on the list related to one another by blood or marriage.  
  
You are further ORDERED to remain on Earth or current location for the duration of said Board of Review. You will make your whereabouts at all times known to the Office of the Judge Advocate General. You will make yourself available to testify if and when summoned.  
  
This order shall remain in effect until the earlier of (a) the conclusion of the Board of Review or (b) your specific release from this order in a written instruction.  
  
/s/  
Adm. Jack Hayes  
Commander in Chief  
Starfleet Command

**Quarters of Capt. K. Janeway, Visiting Officer Quarters, Starfleet HQ  
  
**Kathryn savored the aroma and flavor of her after-dinner drink, closing her eyes in a moment of pure sensual delight. After all the hoopla surrounding _Voyager_'s return--the publicity, the formal parties, the parades--and all the reunions, and the celebrations of Christmas, Kwanzaa, Chanukah and even an abbreviated Prixin--it was sheer bliss to have a moment of quiet reflection with friends. She was keenly aware of the silkiness of her dress, the smooth coolness of the marigold necklace around her neck, the weight of the matching bracelet on her wrist (a Prixin gift from Chakotay to mark their first anniversary together) and most of all, the rich and satisfying taste of the hot liquid sliding down her throat.  
  
Across the table, Daeja Thev laughed out loud, her antennae curling inward in a sign of humor. "It's only coffee, you know."  
  
"That's easy for you to say," Kathryn retorted. "You haven't spent the last eight years drinking only the replicated stuff. It's like the difference between synthehol and real brandy."  
  
"We did find some reasonable substitutes on a few planets," Chakotay reminded her. "You liked the Vordai blend on New Hope."  
  
She wrinkled her nose. "Comparing a brew made from shaved bark to this ambrosia is almost a sin."  
  
"I find it hard to imagine all the discoveries you made in the Delta Quadrant." Daeja's companion for the night, _(“just a friend, Kathryn!”_) Karder Jhan, said. His antennae curled inward also, but Kathryn didn't know how to interpret it yet. Andorian antennae reflected emotions, but the responses were idiosyncratic. It had taken Kathryn months to learn how to read Dae's. She decided that for Karder, the inward curl signified curiosity.  
  
"I don't mean the big things," he went on, "but the little ones, like new coffee substitutes and new songs and new foods. For example, I think I've heard the two of you mention something called 'leola root' several times tonight, but I have no idea what it is."  
  
Kathryn and Chakotay shared a look of amusement before they began to laugh. "Oh, dear," she said. "I hadn't realized we'd done that. Leola root was so much a part of our routine that we don't think twice about it anymore."  
  
"Leola is a root vegetable that is ubiquitous in the Delta quadrant," Chakotay explained. "It looks like a mutant parsnip and tastes...well, let's just say it's an acquired taste."  
  
The door chime sounded and Kathryn frowned. "At this hour? Who could that be?" She rose, and said to Chakotay, "Tell them about Neelix's leola root pudding while I see what this is about."  
  
The apartment assigned to her in the Visiting Officers Quarters wasn't large, but it did have a private entry foyer so that occupants were shielded from view if a visitor was forced to remain in the doorway. She checked the ID screen beside the door was flashing the name "Vokic, Danilo, CPO, SFMP." _The Military Police?_  
  
"Open," she said, and realized that even without the ID screen, she would have recognized Chief Vokic as Security. He wore no overt insignia other than the generic yellow turtleneck, but there was something about his bearing, a combination of confidence and readiness, that she had seen in good officers such as Tuvok and Ayala. The fact that he was easily the size of Ayala, if not taller, added to the air of quiet intimidation. "What can I do for you, Chief?"  
  
"Captain Janeway?" When she nodded, he handed her a PADD. "My orders are to deliver this to you personally."  
  
As she read the orders, all the warmth and good will of the evening drained away. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked after a moment, when she realized that Vokic was not moving.  
  
"Yes, ma'am. Do you by any chance know where I might find Commander Chakotay? There was no response at his quarters."  
  
She looked at him appraisingly. "He's here, but why do I have the feeling that you already know that?" When he said nothing, she said, "Oh, all right, come in."  
  
From the sudden silence and somber expressions on the face of her three guests as she led him back to the table, it was obvious that they, too, recognized Security. "Everyone, this is Chief Vokic from the Military Police. He's here to deliver orders. Chief, this is Professor Karder Jhan, Commander Daeja Thev, and of course, Commander Chakotay."  
  
Vokic nodded in acknowledgement and then handed a second PADD to Chakotay. "My orders are to deliver this to you personally, sir."  
  
Kathryn handed her PADD to Daeja. "Looks like it's begun. At least they let us get through our holidays."  
  
Daeja's antennae arched forward, almost laying against her scalp. "Yes. And that's a good thing. This is one of the broadest sequestration orders I've ever seen, especially for a Board of Review." Then she looked up at Vokic. "Why are you still here, Chief?"  
  
"Ma'am, I was instructed to emphasize that the order takes effect immediately upon receipt."  
  
"In other words," Chakotay said as he stood, "I need to leave now." He stood beside Kathryn and clasped her hand. "Don't worry. It won't be for long."  
  
"It just makes me angry," she said in a low voice. "It's so unfair to the crew. I can't believe they are doing this to the entire crew. What are they afraid of? That we'll go to the press?"  
  
"That you'll talk to each other," Daeja explained. "They don't want your crew to have a chance to compare notes and make sure their stories match." Then her bright blue eyes turned to Chakotay. "Where are you planning on going from here?"  
  
"Back to my quarters." He looked puzzled.  
  
The Andorian shook her head. "Not a good idea. You're right across the hall from Kathryn. Even if you resist the temptation to sneak a visit, the chance that you'll inadvertently run into each other is too high. You both want to be above suspicion through this process."  
  
"But--"  
  
"She's right," Kathryn said. "What about your cousin in Ohio? He invited you to visit, didn't he?"  
  
"Yes, but I can't show up on his doorstep at this hour. It's past midnight in Ohio. And I don't like it. I want to be nearby."  
  
Daeja stood. "I understand how you feel, but that just isn't going to help anyone right now. You'll simply have to put up with being separated for a while."  
  
Vokic cleared his throat.  
  
"Put a sock in it, Chief," Daeja snapped as her antennae pointed flatly at him. "They're saying goodbye."  
  
"My orders, ma'am--"  
  
"Never mind," Chakotay said. He held Kathryn close for a moment, then kissed her. "I'll be thinking of you every day. Remember that."  
  
She nodded, and said quietly, "Me, too." Then he turned and walked out without looking back.  
  
"Sorry, Captain," Vokic said, sounding as if he might mean it, and then he followed Chakotay out the door.  
  
Kathryn turned to her friend and saw her determined expression and flattened antennae. "We're in for a rough ride, aren't we, Dae?"  
  
"I'm afraid so."

* * *

  
**Vulcan North American Consulate, Scottsdale, Arizona.  
  
**The setting could not be better, Neelix thought. The table was set on a patio of the Vulcan North American consulate which the Consul, temporarily off-planet, had offered for this occasion. The desert sunset had been a carnival of color, and the patio was surrounded by tall cacti and pots of fragrant flowers. The linen was white and crisp, the lighting soft and the company--well, he and Sarexa were sharing dinner with the Vulcan representative to the Federation High Council and his wife as well as Tuvok and T'Pel. It was nearly perfect.  
  
Nearly.  
  
The problem was the food. He had thought the _bertakk_ soup bland until he tried the bread-like _kreila_, which elevated blandness to a new level. It was like eating baked sawdust. If this was what Tuvok had meant when he claimed Vulcans preferred "subtle" spices, no wonder he had never enjoyed the meals on _Voyager_.  
  
Ambassador Serel turned to him. "Are you enjoying the meal, Mr. Neelix?"  
  
"It's very interesting," Neelix said slowly. He was keenly aware that this dinner was a great honor, and that Tuvok had gone out of his way to secure the invitation for him and Sarexa. Neelix had no intention of insulting his host or embarrassing his shipmate. "It's my first opportunity to sample real Vulcan cuisine, you know. I'm afraid I missed the mark in my attempts to recreate it for Commander Tuvok."  
  
"This particular recipe comes from the eastern provinces, which are known for their skill in the use of subtle spices," Serel told him.  
  
_There's that word again_, Neelix thought. "Subtle, indeed," he murmured.  
  
"I must confess, though, that I prefer something with a bit more flavor." Serel pointed his fork at the baked fruit dish in a bowl beside his plate. "The _yon-savas_ compote, for example. You'll find it an interesting contrast to the _kreila_."  
  
Neelix took a bite of the red fruit dish, and as the strong, spicy flavor spread across his tongue he smiled. "Excellent!"  
  
Tuvok, seated across the table from him, nodded. "It is similar to the chinga berry cobbler that was served on _Voyager_. You did not 'miss the mark' with that dish, Neelix."  
  
Startled by the unusual praise, Neelix cleared his throat. "Yes, well, thank you. I'm reconsidering my plans to open a restaurant, though. I'm beginning to realize how different things are in the Alpha Quadrant."  
  
Serel tilted his head. "A restaurant? I had assumed that the two of you would take up an ambassadorial role on behalf of your world."  
  
"Ah. Well." Neelix shifted a bit in his seat. "I had considered it, but the truth is, I am, ah, without portfolio, as they say. The government of Talaxia has no idea that I'm here. At least, they don't know I'm here, _now_. They know I was on _Voyager_, heading here. They probably think we're still somewhere in the Delta Quadrant."  
  
"On the other hand," Tuvok said, "you served as _Voyager_'s 'goodwill ambassador' for the entire Delta Quadrant for eight years. I believe you and Sarexa could serve a similar role here and accomplish a great deal of good."  
  
"We could?" Sarexa sounded surprised.  
  
"Indeed," T'Pel said. Seated next to Tuvok, she wore a sheath and robe of gold satin with hand-embroidered borders symbolizing her familial house affiliation and a white and gold formal headdress. In Neelix's opinion, she made the Ambassador's wife, in her dirt brown robe and wimple, look dowdy_. No wonder Tuvok cherishes her,_ Neelix thought.  
  
Tuvok continued, "You are already well known to the media. Even if you do not take up a formal role, I fear you are already the embodiment of the Delta Quadrant for many people, and you will be treated as such, for good or ill."  
  
Neelix frowned. "For ill?"  
  
"Some of _Voyager_'s more perilous encounters have been reported to the public," Serel explained. "There are many who see the Delta Quadrant as a dangerous place, filled with unknowns. And among the more volatile races in the Federation, the unknown is often feared, especially in the aftermath of the war with the Dominion. As a goodwill ambassador, you can help us all understand the true complexion of the Delta Quadrant."  
  
"It will take more than some public appearances by Sarexa and me to accomplish that." Neelix shook his head. "It will take additional contact with the Delta Quadrant."  
  
Serel inclined his head. "Granted. But we must begin somewhere."  
  
He looked up then as one of his secretaries stepped out to the patio. "Your pardon, Ambassador, but this was just delivered for Lieutenant Commander Tuvok. I was asked to bring it to him immediately."  
  
Serel nodded once, and the young man handed a PADD to Tuvok and left quietly. "I hope it is not bad news, Commander."  
  
Neelix watched Tuvok's face carefully. His mouth turned down slightly, a bad sign. "These are orders from Starfleet command. The crew of _Voyager_ is being sequestered pending a Board of Review for Captain Janeway."  
  
"What does that mean?" Sarexa asked. She sounded fearful, and Neelix reached for her hand under the table and squeezed it. He hoped she couldn't sense the apprehension he felt.  
  
Serel frowned. "The entire crew? That is an extreme measure."  
  
"I had the same thought," Tuvok said. "I'm afraid I must leave. Neelix and Sarexa are on the list of potential witnesses with whom I must have no contact."  
  
Before Neelix could respond, Serel said coldly, "That is insupportable. Starfleet has no jurisdiction over civilian personnel."  
  
"We don't mind testifying for Captain Janeway," Neelix said. "She told us this might happen."  
  
"These orders are about more than your testimony," Tuvok explained. "They prohibit you from having contact with any members of _Voyager_'s crew until we are released from the orders. And I suspect that both of you will receive copies of this upon your return to your apartment tonight."  
  
"In essence," Serel said, "they are isolating you from the only people you know in this Quadrant and rendering you dependent upon Starfleet for your very existence. That is intolerable. It violates all established diplomatic protocols and is another example of the way the Admiralty is abusing its authority." Shaking his head in apparent disapproval, he went on, "For two centuries, Starfleet managed to keep the delicate balance between its two primary missions, to explore space and to protect the Federation. They seem to have forgotten how to keep that balance."  
  
"Husband." His wife T'Via spoke quietly. "This is not the floor of the Council Chamber. There is no need for a political discourse."  
  
"But there is," Tuvok said. "Remember, Neelix and Sarexa have no knowledge at all of Federation protocols, and I have been gone for eight years. If you have insights into this order, I would like to hear them."  
  
"Into the order specifically, no. But," Serel said, "into the way Starfleet is attempting to expand its jurisdiction, yes." He turned to Neelix. "During the recent wars, first with the Klingons and then with the Dominion and Cardassians, Starfleet was granted a great deal of authority. The balance of power between the military and the civilian aspects of government shifted. The war is over, but there are some--too many--who are unwilling to allow that balance to return to its prior state."  
  
"My husband and Ambassador Brelz of Tellar are the most vocal critics of Starfleet Command," T'Via added.  
  
"But what can we do?" Neelix asked. "We were part of _Voyager_'s crew. Doesn't that put us under Starfleet's orders?"  
  
Serel turned to him, his eyes suddenly alight. "If you would reconsider your decision to reject formal ambassadorial status, I believe we can assert diplomatic immunity. You could voluntarily testify for your Captain but legally, Starfleet could not compel you to do anything against your will, including cutting you off from your shipmates."  
  
"Ah, but Tuvok and the other crewmen could be ordered to avoid Neelix and Sarexa," T'Pel pointed out.  
  
"True. But public pressure can be exerted to prevent that. The media has already demonstrated a certain fondness for the two of you. That can be used to your advantage."  
  
Neelix looked at Tuvok. "What do you think we should do?"  
  
"I cannot make that decision for you. I cannot even advise you on the current political situation. You are best served by seeking advice from those who are knowledgeable and whom you trust."  
  
"I trust you, Tuvok," Neelix said quietly. "What do you think?"  
  
Tuvok's eyes flicked to Sarexa and then back to Neelix. "Whatever you decide, I think you should keep in mind that as the situation stands, these orders require the two of you to be separated. I do not know if this can be enforced, but we should expect an attempt to do so."  
  
"What?" Sarexa asked faintly.  
  
That was her greatest fear, Neelix knew--that she would be alone on a strange planet, in a strange part of the galaxy. He had promised her it wouldn't happen, and he understood the silent suggestion in Tuvok's words. "Don't worry, sweeting," he said to her quietly. "I'll take care of it."  
  
Since their little indiscretion on Deep Space Nine, Neelix had been trying to give Sarexa the time she needed to decide on what kind of a relationship she wanted. Now, though, it looked like they were out of time. This wasn't what he had planned, or how he had planned it, but if he was anything, he was adaptable. That was how he had survived the Haarkonians, the Kazon and eight years on _Voyager_. "Ambassador Serel. Do you have the authority to marry us?"  
  
He paused as Sarexa gasped and looked at him in surprise. Happy surprise, he hoped, but he couldn't stop to ask. Holding her hand tightly, he asked Serel, "And how do I become an official Ambassador?"

* * *

  
**Spacedock  
  
**"Lieutenant Paris! Lieutenant Torres! Wait, please!"  
  
As the sharp, officious voice echoed through the boarding ring of Spacedock, Tom and B'Elanna stopped walking and shared a look of exasperation. "Now what?" she whispered to him. "He did everything but take a kidney already."  
  
Shifting the backpack holding his sleeping daughter, Tom said, "Don't worry. It's probably just more red tape. Dad told us that travel to Qo'noS would be difficult, even if we are allies again."  
  
The thin ensign with the irritating voice who had checked them in ran up to them, panting. "These just arrived for you. They're marked priority."  
  
He handed each of them a PADD, and they read the message silently. B'Elanna spoke first. "But we've already been approved for a trip to Qo'noS."  
  
"Not anymore." The nameless ensign seemed to have recovered from his exertion and was operating at complete officiousness again. "The travel authorization has been revoked. You can't board the _Wolfe_. You have to return to Earth."  
  
"You don't understand." B'Elanna spoke in slow, measured tones. "We have to go to Qo'noS. I have to see my mother's grave. My daughter has to be accepted by our house. We have clearance. We are going to Qo'noS."  
  
"Not today. Tough luck." He smiled at her, a smile so patently false that it was offensive.  
  
_Enough_, Tom decided. He had tolerated the young man's exaggerated perusal of his Outmate papers, confirming that he had well and truly satisfied the conditions of his conviction and was discharged from the New Zealand penal colony. He had tolerated the sneer, the false look of surprise, the moue of disdain. He had ignored the copy of the Risian Ribald on the back counter. He was big enough to absorb that kind of insolence. But no one, _no one_, insulted his wife.  
  
"Excuse me," Tom said politely. "Would you mind checking something for me?"  
  
"What?" The young ensign looked confused by the seeming change in subject.  
  
"What is my wife's rank?"  
  
"Lieutenant." Frowning, the young man looked from B'Elanna to Tom.  
  
"Good. For a minute there I thought something had changed when I wasn't looking. And tell me again, what is my rank?"  
  
"Lieutenant, junior grade." Understanding began to dawn in his eyes, and he wasn't happy about it.  
  
"Then we're all in agreement here, aren't we, _Ensign_? You are addressing two superior officers." Tom smiled benignly.  
  
Angry eyes met his. The younger man said nothing, but his mouth formed the words, "Yeah, right."  
  
Having Miral in a backpack placed him at a disadvantage; still, Tom glared at the man. "What was that, Mister?"  
  
The ensign continued to stare at him, obviously trying to weigh his risk. Finally, he turned to B'Elanna and said, "No disrespect intended, ma'am. I was simply trying to convey the change in orders."  
  
"Very good," Tom said approvingly. "Please see that our luggage is returned to the checkpoint." He turned to B'Elanna. "I'm sure we can straighten this out. It's a delay, not a cancellation."  
  
She drew a long breath through her nose, and Tom knew she was mentally counting to ten. Or maybe fifty. Finally she said, "Of course. Let's go."  
  
They turned and headed back for the main concourse, leaving the red-faced ensign behind them. B'Elanna said in a low voice, "Nice death glare."  
  
"Learned from the master." Tom flashed a quick grin, then sobered. "Where do you want to go? My parents or your cousin?"  
  
"Your parents, at least for tonight. Perhaps your father knows what's going on."  
  
Tom shook his head. "Don't count on it. If Dad were in the loop, he would have warned us before we left."  
  
"This is a bad sign for the captain, isn't it?"  
  
"Not necessarily," he said, although he was thinking the same thing. "We knew it was coming. A board of review is routine."  
  
"Is it routine to sequester the entire ship's crew?" B'Elanna shook her head. "I've got a bad feeling about this." Then she sighed. "Everything seemed to be going so well, too. It's silly, but when it only took a few days to clear up your status with the Outmate Board, I thought that was an omen that everything would work out."  
  
He thought about everything left to work out--Janeway's review, the _Equinox_ survivors, the Doc's status, and most of all, the fate of the Maquis. "Maybe it will," he said slowly, "but that's an awful lot to hope for. Come on, let's find a comm booth and call your uncle."

* * *

  
**Jupiter Station  
  
**"You can open your eyes now," Haley said.  
  
Seated at the small table in the kitchen of the Zimmerman quarters on Jupiter Station, the EMH did as he was told--and did a double take. Haley, the pretty young hologram who served as Zimmerman's secretary and personal assistant, was holding a round, two-layer cake rimmed with burning candles. "What's this?"  
  
"Happy Birthday!" Reg Barclay said enthusiastically.  
  
"Birthday?" The EMH looked confused. "But I don't have a birthday."  
  
"You do now," Lewis Zimmerman said tersely. "Reg insisted we give Haley a birthday last year, so you get one, too."  
  
Haley set the cake down on the table in front of him. "You're supposed to make a wish and blow out the candles."  
  
"I know." He looked around, confused. "I don't understand. Why today? There's nothing special about today."  
  
"It was ten years ago today that we completed the first test matrix for the Emergency Medical Hologram," Reg explained. "In a sense, that was the day you were born. Everything after that was just...refinement."  
  
"Oh." The EMH looked at the cake. "It's a nice tradition, but shouldn't the guest of honor be able to actually eat the cake?"  
  
"Oh, for Pete's sake. Blow out the damn candles before the fire suppression system goes off." Zimmerman scowled at him.  
  
Keeping an eye on his creator, the EMH went through the motions of blowing at the candles. When nothing happened, he motioned to Reg, who extinguished them with a single breath. Haley smiled warmly. "Well done. You'll get your wish."  
  
"I hope so." At that moment, his only wish was for Zimmerman to get out of his funk and behave like an adult again. The man had been grumpy all day, even for him. He seemed to have awakened irritated and spent the morning snapping at everyone who tried to talk with him. By mid-afternoon it was so bad that the holographic iguana Leonard had intoned, "Jerk," and shambled out of the lab to curl up in the peace and quiet of the laundry hamper. Haley claimed not to have noticed, but she often used denial as a form of protection from Zimmerman's bad moods. Reg had arrived only moments before dinner, and his tardiness seemed to be just one more thing that irked the scientist. The EMH wanted to tell him to snap out of it, but if he did, an argument was sure to follow.  
  
And with Haley sitting next to him, smiling so sweetly, he couldn't bring himself to do it. "Thank you for the cake," he told her.  
  
"You're welcome." She handed him a knife and cake server. "You're supposed to serve it now."  
  
"I can't eat it, but I'm supposed to serve it?" He couldn't stop the sarcasm that dripped in his voice. "How droll."  
  
"It's traditional," Reg said. He looked pointedly across the table to Zimmerman. "And so are birthday presents."  
  
"Uh. Oh. Yes." The older man rose and walked over to a cabinet. He pulled out two identical boxes, wrapped in red foil paper with a white bow, and then returned to the table and set one box in front of Haley and the other in front of the EMH. "Happy Birthday."  
  
Haley frowned. "But it's not my birthday, Lewis."  
  
"So, Birthday Boy opens his first." Zimmerman sat and folded his arms. "Well?"  
  
The EMH laid the knife on the table and picked up the box. He was actually quite touched. Other than Prixin, he'd never received a formal gift like this before. With great care, he removed the bow so that the ribbon didn't break and took the paper off with surgical precision. Sliding the lid off the box inside, he stared down. "How nice," he said at last. "It's a PADD."  
  
Zimmerman frowned at him, but Reg leaned forward, his face showing that he clearly knew something about the gift that the EMH didn't. "Read it."  
  
He picked it up and thumbed it on. "It appears to be a court order," he said, scanning the text. "In the Matter of Mark Lewis Zimmerman." He looked up. "Who is that?"  
  
"Keep reading," Reg urged. "Don't worry about the first stuff. Skip down to where it says "Order" in capital letters."  
  
Puzzled, he scrolled down began to read aloud. "Based on good cause shown, the court declares that the hologram formerly known as the _USS_ _Voyager_ Emergency Medical Hologram Mark-1 is a sentient life form, entitled to all the rights appurtenant thereto..." His voice trailed off and he finished reading in silence. Then he looked up, stunned. "I--The Federation recognizes that I'm sentient? This is real?"  
  
"Of course it's real," Zimmerman said. "You don't think I'd give it to you if it weren't, do you? As of yesterday, you are Mark Lewis Zimmerman, a citizen of Earth and the Federation. I'd hoped they would get it done in time for that Prixin holiday of yours, but the judge went fishing or something." He nodded to Haley. "Open yours."  
  
She just stared at him. "Me, too? Oh, Lewis."  
  
"Well, I couldn't very well do just one of you, could I?"  
  
"Mark Lewis Zimmerman," the EMH repeated. "_Doctor_ Mark Lewis Zimmerman."  
  
"Since you hadn't come up with a name on your own, I had to choose something for you." Zimmerman's voice was gruff, but his eyes were wary, almost afraid. "If you don't like it, you can always change it."  
  
"All right," Dr. Mark Lewis Zimmerman said slowly. "I might do that. In twenty or thirty years." He waited until he was sure the older man realized he was kidding, then said quietly. "Thank you. You don't know what this means to me."  
  
Embarrassed, Lewis waved one hand in the air. "It needed to be done. The science of holography has outstripped the existing laws. Someone had to get them to see that."  
  
Since Lewis clearly did not want an emotional display, Mark Lewis Zimmerman turned to his right. "And your name is...?"  
  
"Haley Lewisa Zimmerman," she said proudly. "Does this mean you're my brother?"  
  
"Oh, for Pete's sake," Lewis muttered. "Don't turn this into a melodrama."  
  
"Ummm," Reg said, then cleared his throat noisily. "Speaking of drama, I've got, well, I've got some news." He reached into a carryall on the floor next to him and handed another PADD to Mark Lewis. "I was asked to bring these orders to you. You're on the list of potential witnesses for Captain Janeway's Board of Review."  
  
"Really?" Eyebrows raised, he accepted the PADD in surprise. "I didn't think Starfleet thought me competent to testify."  
  
"They've identified everyone who was on _Voyager_," Barclay explained. "You're not permitted to contact any of them. And you're going to have to stay here until they either recall you to Headquarters or tell you they don't need you."  
  
"Stay here?" Lewis repeated. "Indefinitely?"  
  
"That's outrageous," Mark Lewis said indignantly. "It's unfair to the entire crew and a complete insult to Captain Janeway." He paused, then asked, "But I can call my publisher, can't I?"  
  
"Indefinitely?" Lewis asked again, faintly.

* * *

  
**Richardson home, Seattle  
  
**Harry didn't bother to fold his clothes as he stuffed them into his carryall. "This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of," he told Marla. "I just got here. I'm hardly unpacked. And all because of a stupid PADD."  
  
They were in the guest bedroom of her sister's home, where Marla had been staying. Harry had arrived that afternoon to visit for a few days. "I know," Marla said.  
  
He stopped, shirt in hand. "There's a way around this, you know. We could get married."  
  
"What?"  
  
"We could get married. Now. Tonight." He grinned, obviously taken with the idea. "Then I wouldn't have to leave."  
  
She bit her lip, and then touched his face gently. "That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me."  
  
"So?"  
  
"We can't, Harry. You know that."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"We don't have permission, for one thing."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "We don't need anyone's permission, Marla."  
  
"Well, it's bad form to not bother to get your CO's approval, and we can’t contact Captain Janeway now. And for another thing, we don't have a license."  
  
"We could be in Las Vegas in an hour."  
  
"We've already received the orders." She sighed. "It would just get you into trouble. You don't want to risk that second pip."  
  
By now, he knew her well enough to know that he wasn't going to get her to change her mind. He shoved the shirt into the bag. "All right. But we're going to talk about this later, Marla."  
  
"I know." She hugged him tightly. "I love you, Harry."  
  
"I love you, too." He kissed her, but when she tried to pull back he held her and deepened it. She melted into him, responding to him with growing passion. Then he tasted something warm and salty and lifted his head in surprise. "Are you crying?"  
  
She shook her head, despite the fact the tears were still spilling out of her eyes. He studied her for a moment, then snatched up the half-open carryall. "I'd better go now, or I won't be able to go at all."  
  
Marla nodded wordlessly.  
  
"When this is over, we're getting married," he told her firmly. "No arguments."  
  
She sniffed and shook her head. "I won't argue."  
  
His eyes lit with surprise and pleasure. "Really?" She opened her mouth to respond, but he kissed her quickly. "No, don't say anything else. I don't want you to change your mind." He kissed her yet again, then turned and fled from the room.  
  
Marla sat down heavily on the bed and let the tears fall unabated. She picked up the PADD that had been delivered to her. Unlike Harry's, it contained a second message.

> ****ORDERS**ORDERS**ORDERS****  
  
DATE: January 11, 2379  
TO: Gilmore, M.; Lessing, N; Morrow, J;  
Sofin, B; Tessoni, A  
FROM: Hayes, J. Adm./CinC/SFC  
  
**BY ORDER OF STARFLEET COMMAND:**  
  
You are hereby ORDERED to appear in the office of Captain J. B. Goldstein, Assistant Judge Advocate General--Terra Sector, Room 22-A, Perry Building, Starfleet Headquarters on Monday, January 14, 2380 at 0900 hours.  
  
/s/  
Adm. Jack Hayes  
Commander in Chief,  
Starfleet Command


	2. Act 1-part 1

**ACT ONE**  
  
**Monday, January 14, 2380, Conference Room 33-B, Central Administration Building, Starfleet Headquarters  
(08:20 Hours, San Francisco local time)**  
  
Kathryn sat stiffly, her shoulders already sore from her unnatural posture. As soon as she had entered the conference room on the thirty-third floor, she knew this Board of Review was going to be different than anything she had experienced in the past. She had participated in Boards before, both as a senior officer and as commander of a mission. On those occasions, this room had held a single table and the interrogation, while formal, had been conducted collegially and almost conversationally.  
  
There was nothing collegial about the set-up of the room now. The one large table normally in the room had been replaced by two smaller ones, set perpendicular to one another but with a meter and a half between them. One table was equipped with three computers consoles, the other with two. Each had a pitcher of water and several glasses. A chair equipped with an autonomic response analysis, for the purpose of taking sworn statements, was positioned opposite one table but angled to face both. It looked more like the arrangement used in formal hearings than in Boards of Review.  
  
She was suddenly glad that she had taken Dae's advice and invoked her right to have counsel present. It was hard to shake the feeling that this was only a prelude to a formal Court Martial.  
  
"Relax." Dae, sitting beside her at the table with two monitors, spoke quietly. "If you stay that tense, you'll be exhausted before the day is out."  
  
"I just wish we'd get started," Kathryn said. "It's the waiting that's hard."  
  
"I know that. So do they."  
  
"They want me on edge?"  
  
"It's possible. Or it's possible that one of them just overslept." Dae's antennae quivered, a signal of sarcasm.  
  
Before Kathryn could respond, the door to the conference room opened, and Admirals Ross, Nechayev, and Blanc entered. They took their places at the other table, their faces unreadable. "Captain Janeway, Commander Thev," Admiral Ross said. "Sorry to keep you waiting. If you have no objections, we'll get right down to business."  
  
"By all means," Kathryn replied.  
  
Ross touched a control, and immediately all the computers came to life. "This is the record of the Board of Review into the mission of the _USS_ _Voyager_ under the command of Captain Kathryn Janeway from Stardate 48307.5 to Stardate 55944.6. The review panel consists of Admiral Norman Blanc, Admiral Alynna Nechayev and myself, Admiral William Ross, acting as Chair. Be it noted for the record that Captain Janeway has invoked her right to have legal counsel present and is accompanied by Commander Daeja Thev of the Judge Advocate General's office. Captain Janeway, do you have any objections to the composition of the review panel?"  
  
"None, sir." In truth, Kathryn would have been happier if Blanc and Nechayev were replaced with almost anyone else--Owen Paris was conflicted, of course, but Will Patterson or Gelb would have been nice. The fact that they had been her instructors did not technically disqualify them, although they may have felt an obligation to stand down. Even if they felt morally conflicted, why couldn't she get someone known to favor field commanders, like Bart Coburn? Even Ross was potentially a problem; Dae had told her that he was bitter about the Maquis. But the political leanings of the admirals were not legal cause for objection, and she would do herself more harm than good if she protested without a rock-solid reason.  
  
"So noted." Ross seemed to relax a little bit. "This is a Board of Review, Captain Janeway. As such it is not a formal hearing and cannot result in disciplinary action in and of itself. Our purpose is to review the key events of your extraordinary mission in the Delta Quadrant, to gain some additional insights into your thought processes, and to develop recommendations for the Commander of Starfleet, both as to potential new protocols or potential disciplinary actions. We are not bound by trial procedures or the rules of evidence.  
  
"Commander Thev --" he looked at Dae pointedly--"the only objection to a question that is acceptable in this forum is an invocation of the right against self-incrimination guaranteed under the Federation charter. You and Captain Janeway will be given an opportunity to ask questions or provide clarification at the appropriate time. You may raise points of order or points of information. I trust we will have no misunderstanding on that point."  
  
Dae smiled, her face and antennae serene. Apparently she was expecting the veiled threat and was prepared for it. "As do I, sir."  
  
"Good. If you check your computer screens, you will find an agenda for today and a preliminary list of witnesses the panel plans to call. We reserve the right to call additional witnesses based upon the testimony adduced."  
  
Kathryn checked the monitor at once and frowned. They planned to spend at least three days questioning her before calling their first witness--Tuvok. Based on the outline, she estimated that the hearing would last at least two weeks, maybe three. Stifling an inward sigh, she looked up at the panel. Ross and Nechayev were getting themselves organized, but Blanc was staring at her, his arms folded across his chest. His gaze was cold and disapproving.  
  
Instead of being worried, Kathryn suddenly wanted to laugh. Did he think glaring at her was going to intimidate her? _Oh, Admiral. I've been face to face with the Hirogen Alpha and the Borg Queen. They could teach you a thing or two about intimidation._  
  
"Let's get started then." Ross cleared his throat, and said with some formality, "I note for the record that Captain Janeway's official logs, as well as the log of _Voyager_'s Chief Security Officer and the engineering logs of _Voyager,_ have previously been provided to the panel. Captain Janeway, would you be good enough to move to the witness stand?"  
  
Feeling strangely calm, she stood and crossed the small distance to the chair with the ARA in the arm. She had been expecting this moment, and in many ways preparing for it, for eight years. All she wanted was a chance to tell the truth--all of it, as she knew it. If they were willing to hear her out, she felt confident that most of her actions would stand up to any challenge. She was painfully aware of the ones that wouldn't.  
  
"For the record, would you please state your name, rank and last assignment?"  
  
"My name is Kathryn Marie Janeway, serial number CW929-7575 RMH. My rank is captain, and my last assignment was the command of the_ USS Voyager_, registration number NCC-74656."  
  
"Thank you." Ross checked a readout on the computer and nodded. "Everything is functioning appropriately. For the record, Captain, we wish to acknowledge that you and your crew were subjected to a set of circumstances that appears to be unique in the annals of Starfleet. You are to be commended for getting home as quickly as you did and with no more casualties than you incurred. Our purpose, however, is to determine whether you accomplished this within the parameters of acceptable conduct for a Starfleet commander. Do you have any questions before we begin?"  
  
"Just one." She smiled appealingly. "Would it be possible to get another cup of coffee?"  
  
Ross and Nechayev actually returned the smile. "Of course, Captain," Ross said. "We should have remembered." He keyed in a message before saying, "A pot will be brought in shortly. Now, we--" he indicated the panel--"have each identified areas of interest we want to pursue with you. One of us will lead off with questions, then the other two will have a chance to ask questions, and then you will have an opportunity to add any clarification you wish. That said, I am going to begin. Captain, I would like to focus on the event that actually pulled you into the Delta Quadrant. According to your log..."  
  
_Here we go_, Kathryn thought, bracing herself for a long day.  
  
  
**Monday, January 14, 2380, ****Room 22-A, Perry Building, Starfleet Headquarters ****  
(09:05 Hours San Francisco local time)**  
  
The windowless conference room on the twenty-second floor of the Perry Building – the building housing the Judge Advocate General’s office at Headquarters - seemed cramped and stuffy to Marla, and the hard-backed chair was uncomfortable. She shifted, trying to find a position that relieved some of the pressure on her back but gave up.  
  
Her _Equinox_ crewmates looked equally discomfited. Noah Lessing sat with his shoulders slumped forward and his head down, the picture of defeat. Angelo Tessoni drummed his fingers on the table while he stared at the opposite wall. Marla doubted he realized what he was doing. Jim Morrow leaned on his elbows and rubbed his hands up and down. Brian Sofin folded his arms across his chest and glared at the universe in general.  
  
The silence made the air seem thick.  
  
Finally, the door opened, and a captain entered. He appeared to be in his forties, very thin, and with a face that looked pinched. He was followed by a lieutenant (j.g.) who scarcely looked old enough to be in uniform. As one, the five survivors of the _Equinox_ rose to their feet.  
  
"Sit down," the captain said, doing so himself. His voice was deep and rich, an incongruity in a man so slender. "I'm Captain Goldstein. This is Lieutenant John Guiness. He is here as your counsel, unless any or all of you desire that another lawyer be appointed to your case. I trust that is acceptable to you all?"  
  
They glanced quickly at each other, but none of them spoke as they returned to their seats. Goldstein nodded. "Good. Now, let's make the record clear. This is not a formal proceeding. This is an informal meeting for the purpose of briefing you on your options. After we conclude, you will have an opportunity to consult with Lieutenant Guiness or to request alternate counsel if you so choose. Do you understand?"  
  
Again, they responded with silent nods. "Very well. Starfleet has had the opportunity to review the reports concerning the conduct of Captain Ransom and the crew of the _Equinox_. Captain Janeway has provided the statements taken from each of you at the time you joined _Voyager_'s crew. From these, it is patently clear that Captain Ransom actively pursued a policy of genocide towards a non-hostile species as a means of getting his ship home. It is further clear that his crew, including the five of you, conformed to that policy without protest."  
  
He paused and looked at them all, unable to conceal his distaste. Lessing wilted under his scrutiny, but Sofin's face set into a hard mask of defensiveness. Goldstein noticed immediately. "Do you have something to say, Mr....Sofin, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Brian said. "I'm Sofin."  
  
_Don't_, Marla thought. _For heaven's sake, Brian don't say anything else._  
  
"But...No, sir. I have nothing to say."  
  
Marla relaxed. Goldstein studied Sofin a moment longer, then went on. "Under ordinary circumstances, you would already be under arrest for murder and other criminal charges. However, the Judge Advocate General recognizes that _Equinox_ was not operating under normal circumstances. Further, Captain Janeway submitted a report emphasizing your service on _Voyager_ and the particular hardships of the Delta Quadrant."  
  
As he spoke, Goldstein's face puckered as if the words were distasteful. "The Judge Advocate General has decided that you be given a choice. You may agree to accept an immediate discharge and sign a confidentiality agreement in which you covenant to never reveal to any person, under any circumstances, what happened on the _Equinox_. Any interviews, memoirs or similar revelations will result in the immediate filing of charges for murder, which has no statute of limitations."  
  
He looked around the room. "If any one of you declines this offer, it will be withdrawn from all of you. Such rejection will result in the immediate filing of charges and subsequent criminal trial. Do you understand?"  
  
Jim Morrow lifted his hand. "You mean that whatever we do, we have to do it together? We all agree to be bounced, or we all go to trial?"  
  
"That is correct, Mr. Morrow." Since there had been no introductions, Goldstein had obviously studied their files. "There is no justification for allowing some of you to be discharged while prosecuting others. The trial of one person is just as inconvenient and expensive as the trial of five."  
  
Marla could tell that Sofin was simmering, but at least he was keeping his temper. Finally, Morrow asked, "When do we need to answer you?"  
  
"The offer is open until Wednesday at noon. You may consult with Lieutenant Guiness now, or you may request different counsel." Goldstein rose. "I will leave you to your discussion. I strongly urge you to accept this offer, however. It is extraordinarily generous considering you committed acts of wanton violence and completely abandoned any semblance of morality."  
  
Before he had taken two steps, Angelo Tessoni said quietly, "With all due respect, Captain, you are probably right. But you don't know what it was like out there. You can't even imagine."  
  
"Perhaps not," Goldstein replied coldly. "But Captain Janeway could, and she evidently didn't find it necessary to use sentient life forms as fuel." He walked out without bothering with another look at any of them.  
  
There was an awkward silence and then Lieutenant Guiness cleared his throat. "Ahem. Well, do any of you have any questions for me?"  
  
"I've got one," Sofin said. The belligerence he had contained in front of Goldstein burst forth now. "How long have you been out of law school?"  
  
"I graduated last spring."  
  
"Last spring." Sofin laughed bitterly. "Terrific."  
  
"You can request another attorney if you wish," Guiness said with dignity. "At the moment, though, I'm the only one who is up to speed on the situation, so you may as well let me answer your questions."  
  
"Calm down, Brian," Jim Morrow said. "We knew this was coming. Actually, it's better than I expected. Discharge and no indictments? Hell, Goldstein's right. It's almost too good to be true."  
  
"They're buying our silence," Angelo said. "Isn't that right, Lieutenant? Starfleet doesn't want anyone to find out about Ransom's fall from grace. Genocide isn't exactly the image the Federation wants to convey. That's why it's an all or nothing deal. If we don't all agree to keep quiet, there's no point in letting any of us off easy."  
  
"Will it be a Dishonorable Discharge?" Marla asked quietly.  
  
Before Guiness could answer, Tessoni said, "Wait. Let me guess. They're offering a General Discharge, other than honorable, aren't they?"  
  
"That's right," the young man said, frowning.  
  
"Of course it is. Because some reporter might want to dig into the details of a Dishonorable. But a General--well, that doesn't raise eyebrows the same way." Tessoni nodded. "It fits. They want our silence. That's all."  
  
"And as far as I'm concerned, they can have it," Marla said. "I'm ashamed of what we did. It's bad enough that I had to tell my family about it. I'm certainly not going to talk to the press. I just want to forget it."  
  
Noah nodded in agreement. "I don't even see why we need to talk about it. This is better than we hoped for. We can't serve in Starfleet again, we lose our benefits, and we can't ever wear the uniform again--I expected that, and I can live with it. I thought we were facing prison for sure."  
  
"Yeah," Angelo said. "I know. I just think it's, well, I dunno, ironic or something. For all of Goldstein's talk of principles, it's really just publicity they care about. What the hell? I wasn't going to stay in Starfleet anyway. As soon as Celes is cleared to travel, we're heading back to Bajor." He looked around the table. "That's three of us. Jim? Brian?"  
  
Jim Morrow sat stone-faced and unmoving. "All I ever wanted was to be a Starfleet officer. Made up my mind when I was six years old and never changed it." He spoke softly, and with unmistakable sorrow. Then his shoulders slumped. "Yeah, sure. Count me in."  
  
Sofin's fists were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. "What's the matter with you people? Don't you have any guts? We can fight this."  
  
"You're forgetting something," Marla said quietly. "We're guilty."  
  
"We followed orders," he shot back. "We made a mistake and obeyed our captain's orders in a situation that no one had ever faced before. It was a question of survival." He began to pace, speaking passionately. "Any one of those desk-bound admirals--any one of them--would have done the same thing, I guarantee that. We can make them understand."  
  
"Let's say you're right," Jim said. "Say we convince them that we shouldn't be convicted. Do you honestly think we'd have any kind of career after this? We aren't talking about some shore leave prank people would overlook. We'd be stuffed into the most uncomfortable backwater hole they can find until we resign or are forced out by lack of promotion. It would just be a slow death instead of a quick one. Face it, Brian. This deal is the best thing for us."  
  
Sofin's faced turned a deep red as he looked at the faces of his crewmates. Then he turned and slammed his palm against the wall. "Damn it. Damn it to hell."  
  
They waited for him to move or say something more, but he stayed where he was, hand on the wall and head down. Finally, Noah said to Guiness, "We don't need any more time. You can tell them that we all accept."  
  
The young man looked askance at Sofin, as he stood up. "I really do think you've made the right decision. I'll advise Captain Goldstein immediately. You should return to your homes and wait for further instructions."  
  
"What are the next steps?" Noah asked. "How long will this take?"  
  
"This has been tagged for expedited processing. I believe it will be concluded by the end of the week." Guiness looked at them all. "For what it's worth, I'm not certain I could have done any differently than you all." He left, and left silence in his wake.  
  
"Well, I feel better," Angelo said sarcastically. "Maybe it's a good thing I'm leaving. If those are the up and coming officers, I'd wind up hitting one in the face. What are you guys going to do? Once we're out, I mean."  
  
"I don't know," Morrow said softly.  
  
"I'm going to Luna City," Noah said. "There's a florist who wants to sell his shop and retire. He's got a whole greenhouse. Ginny--my ex-wife--and her husband are working on it for me."  
  
"That's nice," Marla said. "You can be near your daughter. Brian, what about you?"  
  
Sofin finally turned away from the wall. "I dunno. See if I can get a berth on a freighter or a private ship, I guess. I want to get away from here, that's for sure."  
  
"What about you, Marla?" Noah asked. "Will you and Harry--"  
  
She shook her head, feeling her heart break. "No. I can't let him be saddled with my baggage."  
  
Noah reached for one of her hands and clasped it. "Are you sure? He loves you, you know. Maybe he loves you enough."  
  
She smiled sadly. "I know he does, Noah. That's the problem. You're an Academy graduate. Can you honestly see him making captain with a wife who has a General Discharge on her record?"  
  
For just a moment, she thought he was going to argue with her Then he squeezed her hand. "What are you going to do?"  
  
"I honestly don't know," she said. For months, she had been convinced that she would be imprisoned once they returned. She had made no plans for any other possibility.  
  
"Come on," Noah said, standing. "I'll buy you a cup of coffee."  
  
  
**Monday, January 21, 2380, Visiting Officer Quarters, Starfleet HQ  
(01:15 Hours San Francisco local time)**  
  
Kathryn switched on the light to the kitchen and went straight to the replicator. "Coffee, hot and black," she said, pulling the sash on her robe tighter. When the steaming mug appeared, she sat at the kitchen table and picked up a PADD. After taking a large sip, she began to write.

>   
  
_Chakotay,_  
  
_It is 1:15 in the morning and I can't sleep. I tried to lie down, but my mind refuses to turn itself off. It insists on re-playing Tuvok's testimony from Friday and Saturday and on conjuring up what he may be asked tomorrow. I tried thinking of you as a diversion, but that was not a good choice for relaxation--and_ not_ just because I'm worried about you. I miss you. Even if I can't send this, writing it makes me feel at least a little connected to you._  
  
_It's rapidly becoming clear that Admiral Blanc thinks I should be drawn and quartered, with my head skewered on the entrance gate to HQ, for the way I dealt with the Borg, beginning with my decision to try to ally with them. When he asked me about it earlier in the week, he said, "You gave an advantage to a race capable of murdering billions." Shiver of déjà vu there--do you remember, you said exactly those words to me at the time. Odd, to think that you and Norman Blanc would have such similar reactions._  
  
_Oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself. They called Tuvok in after lunch last Thursday. Admiral Ross spent the afternoon quizzing him about the decision to bring you and the other Maquis into the fold. I think they were a bit surprised by the obvious sincerity of his support for you all. Even though they had seen his written report commending the Maquis for their service aboard Voyager, I suspect they thought it was perfunctory or even worse, done at my instruction. He left no doubt of his true assessment, however. Dae said that even Admiral Ross, who spent years directing counter-Maquis operations, was impressed. I don't know how she could tell, but she's so sensitive to negative vibrations that I trust her intuition._

  
  
She stopped writing and took another sip of coffee. That brief summary did little to convey the tensions of the past week. The panel approached their topics systematically and as unemotionally as if they were reviewing a technical manual. Admiral Ross spent a full day reviewing her actions taken in the first ten days _Voyager_ was in the Delta Quadrant, scrutinizing everything from her reaction to the Caretaker's initial scan to her decision to promote B'Elanna to chief engineer over Joe Carey. Admiral Nechayev took over then and spent another full day on the Kazon, Seska and the Vidiians. Finally, Admiral Blanc began to quiz her on every decision she made about the Borg, beginning with Riley Frazer's New Collective and ending with her decision to participate in the Borg civil war. He gave every indication that he could explore this line of questioning for weeks without a break, but after a day and a half, Dae reminded them of the limitations on continuous testimony and they let her stand down.  
  
Much of Tuvok's testimony had already blurred in her mind, although she could say that he was handling it with his usual poise, conveying a sense of absolute veracity that the panel warmed to. A few moments stood out in her memory, because they were rare instances in which the three admirals betrayed any emotion at all. Early on the first afternoon, Ross asked him whether he thought the decision to destroy the Caretaker's array violated the Prime Directive.  
  
"At the time I did, and I advised Captain Janeway of that fact," Tuvok replied, ruthlessly honest as usual. Then he surprised her. "Later I realized there was a precedent that proved me wrong."  
  
Ross looked up sharply, surprised. "Precedent? What precedent?"  
  
Tuvok regarded him serenely. "In 2368, Captain James T. Kirk of the _USS_ _Enterprise_ introduced advanced technology on Omega IV in order to counterbalance a similar introduction of technology by the Klingon Empire. He reasoned that his actions did not violate the Prime Directive because he was simply correcting an outside interference that had already taken place. Starfleet apparently agreed with that reasoning, as Captain Kirk was not disciplined for a breach of the Prime Directive in that instance."  
  
"That's, um, not quite a perfect analogy." Ross was frowning deeply, and Nechayev looked like she had taken a bite from a lemon.  
  
"On the contrary, it is directly on point. Admiral Fitzpatrick was quite succinct in his defense of the decision. It was not a violation of the Prime Directive to correct outside interference from an alien culture. The Caretaker's array was unquestionably outside interference into the culture of both the Ocampa and the Kazon. By destroying it, Captain Janeway brought an end to the contamination."  
  
While the panel digested this, Dae raised her hand. "Point of information, sir. You'll find Admiral Fitzpatrick's statement on this subject at Volume 3, page 227 of 'Advisory Opinions: The Interpretation of the Prime Directive.' I have added it to the reference files for this proceeding." Then she leaned back in her chair, her face demure but her antennae erect and angled forward in a private declaration of triumph.  
  
That had been one of the high points. One of the low points had happened Friday evening, shortly before they broke for weekend.  
  
Admiral Blanc had the floor again, and his attention was still focused entirely on the Borg. He was rehashing her decision to cut a deal with the devil and bargain for safe passage across Borg space. The Admiral's eyebrows had dropped so low in the center that they appeared to be a single convex line across his forehead, stretching the skin so that his scar gleamed whitely. He stared at Tuvok as if he could somehow read his mind if he only concentrated enough. "Did you agree with Captain Janeway's decision to form an alliance with the Borg?"  
  
"I did not object to it," Tuvok answered. He had been testifying for several hours without a break, but his posture was still straight and he showed no trace of fatigue.  
  
Kathryn had to stop herself from frowning at his response. It wasn't exactly a statement of whole-hearted support. She vividly remembered opposition from Chakotay, but not from Tuvok.  
  
Admiral Blanc also picked up on the lack of enthusiasm in the answer. "That's not what I asked, Commander. Did you agree with the decision?"  
  
Tuvok kept his eyes on the panel, not looking at Kathryn. "No. I did not."  
  
Although she kept her face impassive, Kathryn was shocked. Tuvok had never given her the slightest inkling.  
  
"I see." Blanc made a show of checking something on his screen. "She didn't take your advice, did she?"  
  
"That would have been difficult, as I did not give it to her."  
  
"Oh?" Blanc raised an eyebrow. "And why not?"  
  
"The captain had made her decision. She solicited questions, not opinions. It was not my place to second-guess her."  
  
The admiral's smile was slightly malicious. "Did anyone second-guess her?"  
  
"Not publicly. I learned later that Commander Chakotay expressed his reservations about the plan privately."  
  
"So, she ignored her first officer and silenced the rest of her senior staff. Were many decisions made this way?"  
  
Tuvok took a moment to study Blanc before responding. "A starship is not a democracy. Decisions are the sole prerogative of the commanding officer, and that was the case on _Voyager_. And if I may add, sir, with regard to this particular decision, time has proven that the captain was correct."  
  
Blanc then moved on, perhaps in a strategic retreat, and returned to his all-business drone; but Kathryn had been left feeling dispirited. Even though she had expected Tuvok to be critical of some of her decisions, this was not one she had expected. Dae had taken her out to dinner and told her not to worry about it and that on the whole, Tuvok's testimony was going very well. "He makes a terrific impression--all Vulcan honesty and ethics. If he had no criticism whatsoever of you, they wouldn't believe him."  
  
"But--" Kathryn began.  
  
"No 'buts'," Dae cut her off. "He isn't finished yet. We still have our chance to ask questions when the panel is done with him. I tell you what--I'll spend the weekend making a list of questions, and you spend it not worrying. Visit your mother, get some sleep. And don't worry."  
  
Which she might have been able to do, until later that night. She had just finished a bath and slipped into her pajamas when the comm system chimed. A quick glance at the chronometer confirmed that it was past 2200, too late for her mother to be calling. If it wasn't her mother, it was probably Dae; almost no one else was calling her these days, but why would she be calling so soon after saying goodnight?  
  
She activated the monitor and frowned slightly at what she saw. "Are you back at the office, Dae?"  
  
Looking tired and unusually rumpled, her friend shrugged. "I had some paperwork to catch up on. Look, Kathryn, there's something you need to know. The five _Equinox_ survivors struck a deal with Starfleet. They each accepted a General Discharge in lieu of court martial, and there will be no charges filed against them."  
  
"Oh, Dae." Kathryn leaned back. She ought to be relieved that none of them faced criminal prosecution, but instead she was sad. Somehow she had hoped that their service on _Voyager_ would have been enough to overcome the travesties on _Equinox_.  
  
Across the comm system, her friend frowned at her. "I knew you'd take it this way. Don't be disheartened. It's a good outcome for them, and you had a big hand in it. Without your endorsement, it's certain they would have been facing prison time."  
  
"I'd hoped for more. You don't know them, Dae. They're good people."  
  
Dae's antennae straightened. "They were complicit in serial murder. That _cannot_ be written off as a simple mistake. 'Justice' isn't a synonym for disregard any more than it is for revenge."  
  
Kathryn's head lifted slightly. "What does that mean for Chakotay and the Maquis? Is this a harbinger of what is going to happen to them?"  
  
"I don't know. It's possible." Dae thought for a moment before speaking. "I won't lie to you. The word on the grapevine is not good. But it's only rumor. And--" she raised a hand, cutting Kathryn off even as her mouth opened, "--before you ask me what you can do about it, the answer is nothing for now. You can't fight on two fronts at once. Right now, you need to focus on the review board."  
  
"I suppose you're right." Kathryn took a deep breath. "The _Equinox_ group--if they've been discharged, does that mean I can talk to them?"  
  
"You could, but my information is they've all left the planet. I'll see what I can find out." She paused, then relaxed a little. "Look, I didn't mean to ruin your night or your weekend but I wanted to tell you now so you've got some time to absorb it before you're back in front of the Review Board on Monday. Try to focus on the positive, all right?"  
  
In spite of herself, Kathryn smiled. "Isn't that usually my advice to you?"  
  
"So, take it." Dae rubbed her eyes. "Get some sleep. Go see your mother tomorrow. Relax. That's _my_ agenda for the day."  
  
"Good night." Kathryn watched the screen go dark but did not move. In her mind, she could see Marla Gilmore's face the day her rank was restored, glowing with pride and surprise. Unlike the Maquis, the five from the _Equinox_ were career officers, and the General Discharge would weigh heavily on them. She was worried about them, especially Marla, who by all reports had a tendency to martyr herself; and Jim Morrow, who had lost all of his family--parents, sister, and grandmother--during his eight years in the Delta Quadrant and had no one left to help him through this. At least Marla had a loving family, as did Noah Lessing; Angelo Tessoni had Tal Celes, and Brian Sofin, well, Brian had been on his own for years and would need someone, too. Perhaps he and Morrow could help each other.  
  
For a long time, she had dismissed them as unworthy of her trust, but they had proven her wrong. Her heart ached for them now, and she hoped that fate would treat them more kindly in the future.  
  
_And please_, she thought, _whatever gods may be, don't let this happen to the others. There has to be a better solution for the Maquis._  
  
She wished she could speak with Chakotay. It was only during this prolonged absence that she realized how thoroughly he had insinuated himself into her life. Picking up the PADD, she quickly wrote about the five discharged crewmen, although she didn't add anything about her fears for the Maquis. Then she added,

>   
  
_Dae suggested that I spend the day with Mom at the farm, so I did. She sends her best to you. She wanted to come visit you, but I asked her not to. I don't want to create the impression that we're trying to communicate through indirect channels. Even so, I wouldn't be surprised if a package of caramel brownies arrives on your doorstep._   
  
_I wish I could talk to you. You have a way of helping me see the sky, not just the clouds. And tonight, all I am seeing is the big, gray cloud. Owen Paris told me to stay focused, but it's hard without you here to remind me. It's not just that I miss you in my bed--I miss your voice; I miss your counsel; and I miss your smile._   
  
_It's late and I should try to sleep. Take care, love. With any luck, this will be over soon._

_  
  
_Kathryn saved the letter to give to Chakotay when they were free to communicate again and turned off the PADD. She moved to a chair in the main room and sat, sipping her coffee, and thinking about the day ahead of her.  
  
  
  



	3. Act 1, part 2

** Act One (continued) **

** **

**Wednesday, January 23, 2380 , Jupiter Station **  
** (13:33 hours, Starfleet Standard time)**  
  
"Lewis!"  
  
At the sound of the shout, Lewis Zimmerman shuddered. He had left strict orders that he was not to be disturbed while he was in the development lab, but apparently Mark Lewis felt no need to respect that wish. His shout could be heard through the closed door.  
  
It wasn't that he was working on anything important. He just wanted a little privacy. Lewis Zimmerman had lived alone for most of his life--well, Haley had been with him for ten years, but she was a quiet little thing--and he was accustomed to a peaceful and orderly environment. After more than twelve consecutive days of living with Mark Lewis, that seemed a distant memory. The former EMH of _Voyager_ was, well, he was-- flamboyant. His holoimager seemed grafted onto his program, and he took pictures of everything. He danced with Haley in the kitchen and played a piano in the test lab. He apparently wasn't capable of doing the slightest chore unless he was humming, and the humming invariably led to singing, and the singing to abandoning the chore to finish the song.  
  
If that was how he practiced medicine, it was a wonder anyone on _Voyager_ survived.  
  
"Lewis! Where are you?"  
  
For the first time, Zimmerman recognized the urgency in the voice of his surrogate son. Something had upset him so much that he was shouting instead of using the comm system. Concerned, he saved his research and hurried out of the lab, only to find Mark Lewis almost running down the corridor toward him. "What is it?"  
  
"Look at this." The hologram thrust a PADD at him. "I can't believe it. They have no idea what they are doing. They will ruin everything!"  
  
Lewis read the document. "Starfleet wants you to send your mobile emitter to Headquarters for analysis," he said. "Well, I hadn't thought about it, but I guess it's not too unexpected."  
  
"How can you be so calm?" Mark Lewis stared at him. "Don't you understand? This is 29th century technology. _You_ haven't been able to do anything with it. _They_ won't be able to do anything with it. They'll take it apart and they won't be able to put it back together and then where will I be? Stuck, that's where. Unable to go anywhere that isn't equipped with emitters. Limited to the whims of others--"  
  
"Wait a minute." Lewis held up his hand. "Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you? There are some good minds at Starfleet Engineering. They may not be able to figure it out, but I doubt they would do any permanent damage to it."  
  
Mark Lewis folded his arms. "Do you know how many times B'Elanna Torres tried to analyze this? She managed to figure out how to adjust it, but she could never figure out how it worked. Neither could Joe Carey or even Captain Janeway. Or Seven or Icheb or Sarexa, and they all had Borg knowledge. I don't care who's at Starfleet, if they couldn't figure it out, no one can."  
  
Zimmerman frowned. There might be something to that. If neither he, the foremost expert in holography of the time, nor engineers capable of merging three technologies to create a transwarp drive and then a slipstream were unable to learn the secret of the emitter, it was unlikely anyone in San Francisco would. "Perhaps we can replicate it before you send it back."  
  
"Don't you think we tried that? Scan it all you want, order a replication and you know what you will get? Something that looks just like it but doesn't work. B'Elanna thinks there is a component that our scanners don't recognize, something that will be developed in the future." He suddenly looked despairing. "Lewis, if they take it away from me, I'll be dependent--a virtual slave--to whatever computer holds my matrix. I don't want to live like that again."  
  
"Haley doesn't think it's so bad," Lewis said. "You could--" He stopped in mid-sentence. He almost said 'you could stay here' but cut himself off in time. Affection aside, Jupiter Station wasn't big enough for both of them on a long-term basis. "No, you are right. We didn't have you declared a sentient being just so you could be forced into a restricted life."  
  
"What can we do?"  
  
Lewis clapped a hand on the hologram's shoulder. "Let's find Reg and Haley and figure something out."

  
  
  
**Monday, January 28, 2380, Kelley’s Island, Ohio**  
** (17:45 Hours, Ohio local time)**  
  
The wind raced across Lake Erie with gusto, frothing the waves as they reached for the shoreline. Chakotay pulled on the thick fisherman's sweater his cousin's wife had wordlessly handed him when he said he was going out and sat on one of the several Adirondack chairs in the expansive sunroom. The January thaw had melted the snow and most of the ice on the lake, but even with the space heater, the room was chilly. Still, he enjoyed the view of the lake and the sunset. He'd been staying with his cousin Tervan on Kelley's Island for a week now, and it had become his habit to come outside and watch the sunset while the children did their homework.  
  
He liked this time alone. Although he was deeply grateful for the affection with which Tervan's family had accepted him, he was not accustomed to the furor that three children under the age of twelve could create in a day. His evening contemplation helped restore his calm center. And, to be truthful, it gave him the time to write his daily note to Kathryn. She wouldn't see any of the messages until the Board of Review was concluded, but the letters made him feel more connected to her.  
  
Activating the PADD in his hand, he began to write.

>   
  
_Dear Kathryn,_  
  
_It is now more than two weeks since Starfleet issued the sequestration order. I know Commander Thev told us it was likely to be a few weeks before the Board of Review called me to testify, but I thought that she was exaggerating. It just sunk in today: she wasn't. I miss Voyager, I miss our crew, but most of all, I miss you. After nearly eight full years of seeing you every day, there is a void in my life where you ought to be. I pray that this ends quickly._  
  
_I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you insisted I come to my cousin. If I had stayed in San Francisco, I would have been a virtual prisoner in my quarters, and by now, probably quite insane. Tervan and his family have welcomed me warmly--perhaps more warmly than I was ready for. As I write this, Mikel (the eleven-year-old) is practicing the piano while Tekul, the eight-year-old, is memorizing his piece for a recitation competition at his school. Memorizing appears to consist of repeating the phrase "A person's a person, no matter how small" as loudly as possible. Chanchan, the five-year-old girl, is simply singing as she works on her penmanship. It is a happy chaos, but truthfully, love, there are moments when I long for the peace and quiet of the Delta Quadrant. I can't even imagine what it will be like when Cholo, their oldest, returns from his visit to Dorvan._  
  
_Tervan and Julia took me with them today to the Bird Sanctuary. This time of year is slow, ornithologically speaking, but I was struck by the diversity of the species that call this island home. Still, I couldn't do what the two of them do. I need more interaction with people than comes from tending flocks of migrating birds. This island has been a designated sanctuary for over 100 years; and other than Tervan’s family and a few other rangers, there are no people here. _  
  
_People. I need contact with our crew, and with you. I think of you constantly. How is it going? How are you holding up? Until we are together again, remember -_  
  
In yaabilmech,_ always, _

  
  
The door opened, and Chakotay closed the PADD and looked over his shoulder. Tervan stepped outside, a steaming mug in each hand. "Thought you could use this," he said. "That space heater leaves something to be desired."  
  
Chakotay accepted the mug gratefully and noted for about the hundredth time that week how much his cousin looked like Kolopak, even more than Chakotay did. Like his uncle, Tervan was lean and wiry, and wore his long hair pulled back in a ponytail. "Thanks," he said, and then smiled as he inhaled the spicy aroma of the tea. "This smells like your mother's special blend."  
  
"Good nose," Tervan said as he sat in a chair beside him. "She gave Julia the recipe as a wedding present, remember? Oh, wait--I forgot, you weren't there, were you?"  
  
"I was on the _Merrimac_ at the time, somewhere along the Tholian border. By the time I got your invitation, you were already married." He shook his head. "Hard to believe it's been fifteen years."  
  
His cousin snorted. "Wait until Cholo gets home, if you want a shock. He was what, three, the last time you saw him? He's already taller than Julia and acts like he's fourteen going on thirty."  
  
Chakotay smiled, thinking of Icheb. "I know the type. When will Cholo be home?"  
  
"He leaves Dorvan tomorrow. It should be a ten-day trip on the passenger ship. Will you still be here?"  
  
"I'll still be on Earth." He was unable to conceal his frustration. "With luck, I won't still be imposing on you and Julia by then."  
  
"It's no imposition. You're family. And Cholo would be deeply disappointed if you weren't still here. You're his hero, you know."  
  
Chakotay chuckled. "That'll change, once he meets me."  
  
"I don't think so. You're his brave and valiant cousin, who fought the Cardassians and survived the Delta Quadrant." Tervan fixed his eyes on the horizon. "He can't quite forgive me for staying on Earth after Dorvan was destroyed."  
  
"That's ridiculous. You were still in grad school, and you had a wife and two small children, with a third on the way. Your first obligation was to them."  
  
Tervan shook his head. "I wish it were that simple. If I'd gone home, if I'd seen what they did--"  
  
"--then very likely Julia would be a widow, your sons orphans and your daughter never born. No, you did the right thing."  
  
With a shrug, the younger man sipped his tea. "Well. Can't change it now. When will you go back?"  
  
"I don't know. It depends on so much--on when they call me to testify at the Board of Review, on when they decide whether or not to prosecute me for my time in the Maquis, on whether I'm convicted."  
  
Frowning, Tervan said, "Do you really think you'll be charged?"  
  
Chakotay shrugged. "I can't discount it. Yet, we've been home for weeks and I thought there would have been some word about it by now. After all, they knew for nearly a year that we were on our way back. I expected some immediate action, not this long silence."  
  
"No news is good news? Perhaps. But..." he leaned back in the chair. "It might just be that they haven't made up their minds yet."  
  
"Do you seriously think that's possible?"  
  
"Oh, yes. We're still coming out of our war mentality, and the government is in just as much a state of flux as the rest of us." Tervan turned to him, his expression solemn. "It's been a tough decade, Chakotay, at least for those of us who are interested in ethics. Defining right and wrong seemed to get a whole lot harder. My guess is every level of government is divided as far as you and your crew are concerned, and the leadership is afraid to jump one way or the other. Either they genuinely aren't certain what's right, or else they can't decide where the true power base lies and don't want to make either side angry."  
  
Disheartened, Chakotay looked out at the sunset. The sun had dipped beneath the horizon, but there was still enough light to tinge the steel-gray clouds above the lake with blue and pink. The beauty of it did nothing to cheer him. "I guess I'll just have to be patient."  
  
"You know," Tervan said slowly, "Julia knows someone--an old friend of the family--who has some pretty good connections with the Ministry of Justice. He might be able to find out what's going on."  
  
"Don't go to any trouble," Chakotay said. "I don't think it would be a good idea to make waves just now."  
  
Tervan grinned. "Believe me, it wouldn't be any trouble. Alex would love it."  
  
Chakotay considered. If Tervan was right and the fate of the Maquis was still undecided, he might still have a chance to influence the outcome. Slowly, he nodded. "Then, thanks. Ask your friend to see what he can find out."

  
  
**Tuesday, January 29, 2380, The Night Owl Diner, Near Starfleet Academy, San Francisco**  
** (13:12 Hours, San Francisco local time)**  
  
"Sorry I'm late," Tom said as he slid into the booth at The Night Owl. "They kept me longer than I expected." He looked at the four empty plates in front of Icheb. "How long have you been here?"  
  
"About an hour. But I passed the time enjoyably. They make a delicacy called 'cannoli.' It's quite good."  
  
"You've had four cannoli?" Tom could only shake his head. _Ah, to be young again, with a cast iron stomach and a metabolism that could turn four cannoli to energy and not extra pounds. _He told the waitress who suddenly appeared beside the table, "I'll have the chicken salad sandwich and an iced tea. Icheb, do you want another cannoli?"  
  
"No, I believe some protein would be beneficial. I will have the same." He waited until the waitress left, and then asked him quietly, "Is your testimony finished, or do you have to return?"  
  
"They said they're finished with me." Tom frowned a little. That was exactly how Admiral Ross had said it: _Thank you Mr. Paris, we're finished with you._ He was probably being overly sensitive, but it sounded so final. He thought Captain Janeway heard it, too, because she had cast a startled, sideways glance toward the panel before smiling at him as he left the room.  
  
"How was it? Do you think they are out to get Captain Janeway, as B'Elanna said?"  
  
"B'Elanna didn't say that, exactly. She said there are rumors that they are out to get her. It's not the same thing." He pictured the three unsmiling admirals. They had been completely businesslike in their questions, not betraying any animosity toward him or the captain, but not showing any support, either. "I don't know what they have in mind, Icheb. I sure wouldn't want to play poker with any of them."  
  
Icheb leaned forward. "What did they ask you? Can you tell me?"  
  
Tom grinned. "They asked a lot of questions about how Chakotay and I captured the Romulan ship. And they had a lot of questions about the Kazon and the Hirogen. They wanted to know how we could have been boarded and taken over so quickly. And they were very interested in the time the captain, the Doctor, Tuvok and I went to the Queen's Unicomplex to rescue Seven."  
  
They said nothing as the waitress set a glass of iced tea in front of them and cleared away the evidence of Icheb's cannoli fest. Then the younger man said quietly, "Some of that does not seem to bode well."  
  
"Don't be too pessimistic," Tom said. "The whole point of the Board of Review is to look at the worst situations and see if anything can be learned from them. Just because they're looking at the times when things went wrong doesn't mean they're going to blame Captain Janeway." Feeling that a change of subject was in order, he said, "So. Have you heard from Naomi yet?"  
  
Icheb's face lit up. "Yes. We spoke this morning. She says that Ktaria is beautiful but she is not comfortable in large, open spaces. And although she and her mother are enjoying their visit with her father's family, she is looking forward to returning to Earth to begin classes."  
  
Smiling, Tom wondered if his adopted brother had any idea of how animated he became when he talked about Naomi. "That won't be long now. You'll see her soon."  
  
"Yes. I am grateful that the Adm- that Father was able to get permission for us to speak." This time, he did not stop talking as the waitress delivered their sandwiches. "It is still new to me, to call him Father. It was easier with Mother."  
  
"Mom makes everything easy," Tom said with a smile. "But Dad--even when's he's home, he's still the admiral, isn't he? Don't let it throw you. It's--"  
  
"Paris? Tom Paris?"  
  
Tom looked up to see a brown-haired man wearing a Starfleet uniform with an Ops-gold turtleneck and the pips of a full lieutenant staring down at him. The face clicked in his memory. "Hello, Rick," he said quietly. He had known that something like this would happen sooner or later. He was just sorry that it had to happen in front of Icheb. "This is Lieutenant Rick Vanderford, Icheb. We were in the same class at the Academy. Rick, this is my brother Icheb. He starts at the Academy next quarter."  
  
Vanderford barely glanced at Icheb. "I heard you were back in uniform."  
  
"Eight years now," Tom said evenly. "Would you like to join us? I'm going to show Icheb the Academy grounds after we eat."  
  
"I don't think so." Vanderford was studying him, apparently uncertain what to make of him. "I heard you were on _Voyager_."  
  
"That's right." This encounter was puzzling Tom; if Vanderford wasn't there to harass him and wasn't there to welcome him, why was he there at all? "How's Tagowa?" he finally asked, referring to Vanderford's closest friend during their student days.  
  
"Dead. Battle of Cardassia Prime." Vanderford continued to look at him oddly, as if he didn't know what he wanted to say. "And Schmidt, and Parrish, and Boldry. A lot of our class didn't make it through the War."  
  
"I didn't know," Tom said softly. He hadn't even thought about looking up old classmates, assuming that none of them would want anything to do with him.  
  
"Yeah. We lost a lot of good people to the Dominion. The papers say you were a hero in the Delta Quadrant."  
  
This conversation was feeling very bizarre. "Yeah, well, they exaggerate." Icheb opened his mouth but closed it when Tom's foot came down on his.  
  
Vanderford shook his head, but he didn't seem upset so much as simply bemused. "When I'd heard they let you back in uniform I didn't believe it. But it's true, isn't it?"  
  
He started to walk away, but Tom called, "Rick." When the other turned around, he said, "People can change."  
  
"Yeah." Vanderford again regarded him silently, then walked out of the restaurant.  
  
"What a strange person," Icheb said.  
  
"Not so strange." _At least he didn't bring up Caldik Prime. At least he didn't call me a disgrace to the uniform and demand I strip right here. _"He knows my history, so he probably wonders why Starfleet let me back in."  
  
"But you're a hero, Tom. He should know that."  
  
Tom shook his head. "I'm not a hero, Icheb. I'm just a guy who did his job. Come on, let's eat and get going. We've got a lot to see."

  
  
**Wednesday, January 30, 2380, Kelley’s Island, Ohio **  
** (17:05 Hours, Ohio local time)**  
  
"Good," Julia said, as Chakotay and Tervan came into the kitchen through the back door, "You're back. Uncle Alex is here."  
  
A silver-haired man of obvious Amerindian heritage, dressed in a well-tailored tan suit and bolo tie, rose from his place at the kitchen table and extended his hand. "You must be Chakotay. It's an honor to meet you."  
  
Chakotay had met admirals and heads of state, prime ministers and monarchs--and still, for just a moment he gawked. Then, with some chagrin, he shook the offered hand. "The honor is mine," he said. "My cousins forgot to mention that 'Uncle Alex' was Alexander Fearnot."  
  
Alexander Fearnot, the confidante of presidents and council members. Alexander Fearnot, the Attorney General of the Federation who had resigned in protest when the High Council ratified the Cardassian Treaty of 2370. "I cannot continue as the chief legal officer of a government that chooses to ignore its own laws," he had said at the time, and retired to private practice in his native Oklahoma. Julia's family friend was possibly the most recognizable lawyer on Earth, or at least he had been ten years ago.  
  
"Oh, sometimes I forget he's famous," Julia teased. "He used to change my diapers, you see."  
  
"That explains everything," Tervan said. He took his jacket and Chakotay's and hung them on pegs near the door. "Sorry, _suku’un_. I didn't think you'd agree to see him if you knew. You always mistrusted famous people."  
  
"A wise trait," Fearnot said. "It's something I learned myself in public life."  
  
The man, Chakotay thought, seemed to occupy all the available space in Julia's kitchen. It wasn't just that he was tall, although at slightly more than two meters, Alexander Fearnot towered above everyone else. No, more than his height, it was his presence, Chakotay decided. The man had an aura of authority that radiated like a personal shield. He invited confidence and trust.  
  
"In this case, I think I'll make an exception," Chakotay said.  
  
"Good. Have a seat, and we'll talk." Fearnot returned to his chair, somehow fitting his legs under the table. "After we've covered your concerns, I would love to hear about your adventures in the Delta Quadrant."  
  
Julia set a pot of tea and a plate of warm cookies in front of them, then took Tervan by the hand. "Come on. We need to leave them alone for a while. Attorney-client privilege and all that."  
  
"Thank you," Chakotay said to them as he sat. He turned to the lawyer. "I don't know where to begin."  
  
"Then let me try. Tervan tells me you are worried about your Maquis crew. You haven't heard anything yet about the government's intentions."  
  
"In a nutshell, yes." Chakotay poured a cup of tea for himself. "No one will give us a straight answer. We might as well be in stasis--we don't know how to plan for our futures, whether we can stay in Starfleet, or even leave Earth. We need to know."  
  
"Yes, you do." Fearnot leaned back in his chair. "I'll be honest with you. I expect that sooner or later, probably sooner, you and your people will be arrested and indicted. The government is probably waiting for some of the glow of _Voyager_'s return to fade before acting."  
  
Chakotay nodded. "I can't say I'm surprised to hear that. My sister told me that all the Maquis on Earth had been charged and tried."  
  
"She's quite right. The only ones who escaped prosecution are the ones like her, who stayed outside of the Federation's jurisdiction." He paused, then added, "The outcomes haven't been all that severe. Except for a few Starfleet officers who didn't bother to resign before acting for the Maquis, the sentences have been light. Quite a few received probation, as a matter of fact. In light of your service on _Voyager_, I think that's likely for most of your crew."  
  
"But if they have a felony conviction on their record, they will be barred from Starfleet."  
  
The silver head cocked, the green eyes looked at him with curiosity. "I didn't think that would matter. The other Maquis haven't expressed much interest in serving in Starfleet."  
  
"The rest of the Maquis didn't spend the past eight years on a starship. For some of my people, it's all they have left. For others," he paused, "for others, it's what they know. We were gone for eight years, Mr. Fearnot. Things changed. Too many things."  
  
"Call me Alex," he said easily. "I hadn't thought of it that way. What about you? Do you want to stay in?"  
  
He smiled. "Ka-- Captain Janeway and I have been discussing that point for months. I'd like to have the option, but I don't know if I would. There are a lot of other factors involved."  
  
"Such as Captain Janeway herself?" Alex looked at him with amused kindness. "Your relationship with her isn't exactly a secret, you know."  
  
Chakotay shook his head, chuckling. "No, I don't suppose it is. We never tried to hide it, but we did try to be discreet. Old habits, I guess." Becoming serious again, he looked Fearnot in the eye. "Kathryn's part of the picture, certainly. But I have to figure out what I need, apart from her, or I won't be any good to her or anyone else."  
  
"Well, if you want to stay in, you can fight the indictment. Don't accept a plea bargain. Make them convince a jury to convict you. That might not be easy. The public anger at the Maquis is fading fast."  
  
A public trial. The prospect of lengthy testimony, of rehashing old wrongs and re-opening newly healed wounds, made his stomach shrink. Even if they won, they would likely lose some of the respect they had won in the Delta Quadrant. Running a hand through his hair, he stood and began to pace. "No. If we stir up the old anger, we could win the battle and lose the war."  
  
He wheeled about and faced the older man. "All those convictions with probation--what was their purpose? What was the government trying to accomplish?"  
  
"To send a message. A two-fold message, to be precise. First, that crimes against the Federation cannot go unpunished. Second, that the Federation can temper justice with mercy when it is appropriate." Alex folded his arms. "That is not a typical question from a potential criminal defendant. What are you thinking?"  
  
"That there may be a way to accomplish their goal and mine." He sat down again and leaned across the table. "If I, as the leader of the cell, agreed to plead guilty and take the conviction, would they give amnesty to the rest of my crew? That would give them their punishment and their clemency, and my people would be free to pursue the lives they want."  
  
Alex regarded him somberly. "It's an interesting suggestion. I doubt the Attorney General would agree to probation for you, though. If twenty-six people are going to go without even an indictment, he'll want something more punitive for you."  
  
"Prison?"  
  
"Possibly. Probably."  
  
_"It doesn't matter if it's on a spaceship or a tropical paradise, a prison is a prison and it eats away at your soul."_ The voice of Tom Paris echoed in Chakotay's mind. He had made the remark to B'Elanna in _Voyager_'s Mess Hall, not long after he and Harry were rescued from the Akitirians. Chakotay had overheard and had not missed the bitterness in the pilot's voice.  
  
He wished he could talk to Kathryn. This decision affected her just as much as it did him. But if he violated the sequestration order, it would reflect on her, not him, and he couldn't risk that. He hoped she would understand.  
  
"Alex," he said slowly, "My crew has earned the right to a clean slate. I have to try. Do you know someone who could approach the right people about it?"  
  
"I would be pleased to do it myself, if you don't mind an old warhorse." He smiled, and his eyes sparked with anticipation. "It's been a long time since I involved myself in the affairs of the Justice Department, but I think I can still open a door or two. But be certain, Chakotay. Once we start this, there will be no turning back."  
  
For the first time in weeks, Chakotay felt something like relief. At least he was doing something, not just sitting around and waiting. "I'm certain." He nodded, feeling the _rightness_ of the decision resonate within. "Yes."  
  
The lawyer leaned back, looking satisfied. "Good. Now, why don't you get Tervan and Julia back in here and tell me about _Voyager_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Words in Yucatec, Chakotay's native language:**
> 
> suku'un -- brother  
in yaabilmech-- I love you


	4. Act 2

**ACT TWO**  
  
**Friday, February 1, 2380, grounds of Starfleet Headquarters  
(15:50 Hours, San Francisco local time)**  
  
Harry walked out of Starfleet Headquarters, torn between exhaustion and elation. His testimony before the Board of Review was finished after two long and tedious days, hence the exhaustion. He was now released from the sequestration order and free to contact anyone else who had also been released, including Marla, hence the elation. By the time he reached the lobby, elation had triumphed. By the time he was outside on the main terrace, he had already planned a romantic dinner at his favorite waterfront restaurant on Bodega Bay.  
  
"Harry!"  
  
The familiar voice of Neelix rose above the normal buzz of activity, and Harry stopped. The newly confirmed Talaxian Ambassador to the Federation, dressed in a neon-bright raincoat of turquoise and orange, hurried toward him. "Neelix!" Harry called with genuine delight. He hadn't seen anyone from _Voyager_ in far too long. Harry pulled him into a hug and thumped him on the back. "Man, it's good to see you."  
  
"You, too." Neelix was almost teary-eyed. "We've missed you all."  
  
Harry caught the plural pronoun. "Hey, congratulations on getting married. I saw it on the news vids."  
  
"Thank you. I wish we could have had everybody there, but--"  
  
"Believe me, I understand. I tried to convince Marla that we should get married when the order came down. She wouldn't then, but now--" He found himself grinning. "As soon as the captain's hearing is over, you can come dance at my wedding."  
  
"Uh, yes." Neelix seemed nervous. "That's what I need to talk to you about. I asked Commander Thev to let me know when you'd be finished with your testimony. Is there someplace we can talk that's less, um, noisy?"  
  
_No wonder he's nervous_, Harry thought._ This isn't exactly the best place to talk about the captain's hearing._ "The gardens are just over there. This time of day there shouldn't be many people around."  
  
As they walked, Harry asked, "So where are you living now? The news story mentioned the Talaxian Embassy but didn't say where it was."  
  
Neelix grinned. "It's a patio apartment in the French Quarter in New Orleans. Ambassador Serel thought we would enjoy the local food, and he was right. There's a restaurant around the corner that serves the most incredible crawfish étouffée. It's the closest thing to real Talaxian cooking I've found yet. The owner says he'll teach me to make it if I show him how to make _angla'bosque_. Of course, it won't be exactly the same, since there's no _angla_ pod on Earth, but Joseph thinks pickled okra might be a good substitute."  
  
Since the mere concept of pickled okra sounded repulsive, Harry only nodded. "I guess the cooks would know that. Cajun food is good, but don't miss out on some of the other strong flavors around. You really need to check out Indian and Asian cuisine for the different curries."  
  
They had reached the northern edge of the Academy garden, and Harry led the way to a small alcove of winter-dormant greenery with a large stone bench, still moist from the morning fog. He brushed off the clinging drops and sat down, gesturing for Neelix to join him. "This is the herb alcove. In a few weeks it will start to blossom, but no one except the gardeners come here now. So, what do you want to know about the captain's hearing?"  
  
Neelix blinked twice. "Uh, yes, of course, the hearing. How is it going?"  
  
"It's hard to tell. The admirals look like the statues on Easter Island, all stone-faced, but that could be good or bad." He shook his head. "I've never been through one of these before. I thought it would be more dramatic somehow."  
  
"Is it boring?"  
  
"Not boring, exactly, but it's tedious. The admirals asked a lot of questions, I gave a lot of answers, and I'm not certain what half of them had to do with the captain." He shook his head. "They asked a lot of questions about B'Elanna and the other Maquis. And a _lot_ of questions about Seven. I got the feeling that one of the admirals thought she was some kind of Borg spy."  
  
"Did they ask about Sarexa?" Neelix asked, alarmed. "Or Icheb?"  
  
"A little, but not so much. After all, neither Sarexa nor Icheb ever tried to rejoin to the Collective. Seven did, at least a couple of times, in the beginning." He saw that Neelix was agitated and added quickly. "Really, Neelix, they hardly asked me anything about Sarexa."  
  
"Good." The new Ambassador looked more grim than relieved. "They better not come after her."  
  
"I really don't think they intend to," Harry reassured him. Then he smiled. "So, how's married life treating you?"  
  
"Fine, just fine, it couldn't be better, no problems." Neelix took a deep breath. "Harry, that's what I need to talk to you about."  
  
"Your marriage?"  
  
"No. Yours." He paused, then went on. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it isn't going to happen."  
  
Fear clutched his throat. "What's wrong? Has something happened to Marla?"  
  
"Yes--wait, no, she's not hurt or anything. It's just that--well, she's left Earth and she's not coming back and she asked me to tell you."  
  
The temperature in the garden seemed to drop several degrees. "Is this some kind of joke?" Harry asked slowly.  
  
"No. I wish it were. Marla and the other _Equinox_ crewmen were given a choice of criminal prosecution or accepting a General Discharge in lieu of court martial. They all chose the discharge. Marla said that if the two of you got married, Starfleet would hold her status against you. She said your career would get bogged down and that eventually you would hate her because of it." Neelix looked pained. "She said she loves you too much to do that to you, so she's going away."  
  
"I don't believe it," Harry said, stunned.  
  
"It's true, Harry, I swear. I wouldn't do this to you if it weren't."  
  
"I know that, Neelix, I mean --" _I mean this can't be happening to me again. Not again. I love her. She loves me. She can't be doing this._ "Where is she? I've got to find her. She's upset, but I can talk her out of it."  
  
Neelix lowered his head. "I don't know. She wouldn't tell me because she knew I'd tell you. She said she didn't want you to look for her."  
  
"I don't give a damn what she said," Harry snapped. Then he stood and ran a hand through his hair. "She's upset and she isn't thinking straight. And she's got this idea in her head that I can't be a good enough officer to earn my own promotions. It's the stupidest--I've got to find her, Neelix. I've got to make her listen."  
  
Neelix nodded. "I know. If I were you, I'd start with her sister. I can't imagine that Marla didn't tell her where she was going."  
  
Harry nodded. "You're right. She wouldn't leave without telling Kaylyn. I've got to get there--" He whirled, ready to leave, then turned back. "Neelix, I'm sorry I yelled at you."  
  
"I understand. Go on, go find her. And good luck."  
  
Harry turned and began to walk away. Then he began to run.  
  
  
**Saturday, February 2, 2380, Jupiter Station  
(10:42 Hours Starfleet Standard Time)  
**  
"Mark Lewis!" The voice of Lewis Zimmerman bellowed throughout the living quarters he occupied at Jupiter Station. "Mark Lewis! Haley Lewisa!"  
  
Haley came into the kitchen, carrying a basket filled with folded laundry. "What is it, Lewis?"  
  
"Where's Mark?" Zimmerman demanded. "He can't miss this."  
  
"He said he would be --"  
  
"In the secondary testing lab, since that is the only place where I am allowed to practice," Mark Lewis said pointedly as he came into the room. "Even though the acoustics are terrible and the echoes lose pitch so I sound flat."  
  
Leonard lifted his head. "Flat," he repeated.  
  
"Forget that," Zimmerman said. "You have to see this." He strode to the monitor and touched the controls. The bottom right corner of the screen immediately showed the miniature magnifying glass logo of IIN.  
  
"The Intragalactic Inquirer Network?" Mark asked incredulously. "What's next, a subscription to the Risian Ribald?"  
  
"It's the most watched news program in this time slot," Lewis replied. "Shut up and watch."  
  
The reporter, a human woman with perfectly styled red-gold hair, a perfectly sculptured face, and a perfectly eye-popping bust was saying, "--credible sources confirm that the actress was indeed dating the producer at the time she 'won' the part."  
  
"Oh, puh-leeze." Mark Lewis rolled his eyes. "She's got more artificial parts than Seven when she first came on board. What is the point of this?"  
  
Zimmerman snapped, "Just wait."  
  
"And in other news," the redhead went on, "Starfleet was stunned today by the filing of a lawsuit accusing it of a secret agenda--the enslavement of holographic lifeforms. The plaintiff, known to most of us as the Emergency Medical Hologram from the miracle starship _Voyager_\--"  
  
"What?" Mark Lewis squeaked, well into the countertenor range.  
  
"--alleges that Starfleet is violating its own rules, as well as the Life Forms With Disabilities Act, to further its program of dominance over holographic life forms. The fight is over a piece of equipment no bigger than this." She held up a deck of cards as the camera panned in for a close-up.  
  
The screen then shifted to file pictures of _Voyager_'s crew as they disembarked at Starfleet Headquarters in December. The woman's voice continued over the picture. "It was only last December that _Voyager_ and its doctor returned to Earth after eight years in the Delta Quadrant. Many of us were surprised to see the holographic healer actually walk off the ship."  
  
The camera suddenly zoomed in, showing a close up of Mark Lewis as he shook the hand of Captain Janeway and then walked down the red carpet that led to the headquarters building. Haley said, "Oh. Look how happy you were."  
  
It was true. The Doctor was smiling and waving to everyone and anyone. "Yes," Mark Lewis said. "I was."  
  
Then the camera zoomed in again, this time on the mobile emitter attached to his sleeve. The redhead continued, "We didn't know that the Doctor had acquired this little magic machine on the other side of the galaxy. It's a mobile holographic emitter, and allegedly it is in fact a bit of the future, transported to its past--our present. Whether it is a temporal anachronism or mere technological wonder, it allowed _Voyager_'s Doctor to travel beyond the confines of the Sickbay or a holodeck. It was this device, and only this device, that granted him the freedom of movement that most of us take for granted."  
  
"Hmph. She's got that right." Then Mark Lewis frowned. "How?"  
  
Haley looked at him. "How what?"  
  
"How does she know all that?" He turned to Zimmerman. "Lewis?"  
  
"Shut up and listen," was all Lewis would say.  
  
"--even _Voyager_'s brilliant engineering team was unable to replicate the device. But in spite of that, Starfleet now wants the Doctor--who recently adopted the name Mark Lewis Zimmerman--to turn it over for 'scientific study.' Apparently, no one has stopped to think about the ramifications of that order on the physician who, in the words of Captain Kathryn Janeway, was an indispensable member of _Voyager_'s team."  
  
"She did say that," Mark Lewis told them. "At the first press conference. I heard it."  
  
"We all did," Haley assured him.  
  
"Would you _please_\--" Zimmerman began.  
  
"--Shut up and listen," Leonard finished.  
  
"--not taking this lying down." The camera had come back to the redhead, providing a close-up of her perfectly symmetrical face. "Today's lawsuit is a direct attack on Starfleet's order, alleging that the order is, in and of itself, a violation of Starfleet's own Temporal Prime Directive, which prohibits any Starfleet officer from gaining or giving knowledge of the future. Even more shocking, Zimmerman claims that the order is a violation of the Life Forms with Disabilities Act, as it deprives him of an accommodation to overcome a life-limiting disability. Without the mobile emitter, Dr. Zimmerman--the hologram--cannot travel freely. Because of the low likelihood that Starfleet will be able to replicate the mobile emitter or return it undamaged, his existence will be permanently and totally dependent upon, and limited to, standard holographic arrays."  
  
The camera pulled in even closer, so that the screen showed only her face. Her features drew themselves together in a mask of concern. "But most startling of all is the claim that Starfleet understands and intends this result. Noting the use of former EMH Mark-1s as waste transfer technicians, Zimmerman alleges that Starfleet is conducting a covert but undeniable campaign to limit holographic life forms and in effect, enslave them by restricting their freedom of movement."  
  
Shifting again, the picture suddenly showed dozens of former Mark-1s, dressed in gray maintenance coveralls, working outdated manual and mechanical controls at an unrecognizable facility. The image was taken at a distance and somewhat grainy. The reporter's voice went on, "IIN obtained access to this holovid which was secretly recorded during an inspection of the waste treatment facility at Spacedock. The use of discarded Emergency Medical Holograms of the same version as _Voyager_'s EMH seems to be powerful proof that Starfleet does indeed intend to preclude these beings from gaining full sentience, consigning them to the role of docile servants."  
  
Once again, the camera returned to the redhead, now sitting behind a desk. "Starfleet had no comment when contacted earlier today by IIN. This reporter, for one, will be watching closely to see how this lawsuit fares. If we are to recognize the rights of sentient holograms--and there are now two such beings declared to be sentient by Federation courts, with a third reportedly ready to request recognition--then Mark Lewis Zimmerman is demanding that we prove our laws apply to everyone, matter or energy. 'If you prick me, do I not bleed?' can refer to photons as easily as it does to blood."  
  
With a chuckle, Lewis turned the monitor off and faced the others. "I think that went well, don't you?"  
  
"But--I didn't file a lawsuit," the Doctor said in confusion.  
  
"Don't be a ninny. I filed it for you." Lewis smiled, a nasty smile that hinted of mayhem. He was feeling very pleased with himself. "Where do you think IIN got that holovid? And that's not all. I also provided an excerpt from 'Hero for the Times' to show what you can do when you aren't hemmed in."  
  
"You filed a lawsuit against Starfleet? Accusing Starfleet of enslaving holograms?" Mark Lewis stared at him in disbelief. "And you put _my_ name on it? Do you realize what will happen? They'll kick me out--cashier me. I'll never serve on a ship again!"  
  
Lewis shrugged. "So? I thought all this singing was so you could audition at La Scala, anyway. And you said you wanted to write another holonovel."  
  
"Well, yes, I wanted to try...but I never thought about actually leaving Starfleet forever...I..." Mark sat down heavily.  
  
"Don't worry," Haley said, patting his shoulder. "I'm sure it will all work out. Lewis usually manages to get his own way."  
  
"Worry," Leonard burped.  
  
  
**Monday, February 4, 2380, Paris, France  
(15:47 Hours Paris local time)**  
  
Alexander Fearnot walked into the foyer of the Maison Etienne and paused. The contrast between the noise of the streets and the quiet of the restaurant was both welcome and startling. He wondered if anyone had any idea how much business was actually conducted here rather than in the cold and impersonal offices of the Federation.  
  
"Monsieur Fearnot, how good to see you again," the maître 'd said, his voice low. "It has been too long."  
  
"Thank you, Maurice. It's nice to be back for a visit." The truth was, Alex was more at ease in the plains of Oklahoma than in the crowded sophistication of Paris; but during his tenure as Attorney General of the Federation, this restaurant had been one of his retreats. It was one of the few things he genuinely missed since he had retired from public office.  
  
"Monsieur Norcott has already arrived. Let me show you to the table." As Alex followed him, Maurice added, "Chef heard you were coming and has prepared the quail you so enjoy."  
  
"Tell Chef he's made me a happy man."  
  
In a few seconds they reached a secluded table in the far corner of the eating area. A bottle of red wine was already breathing on the table, with two glasses ready. Gerald Anthony Norcott, the current Attorney General of the UFP, rose and offered his hand. As usual, he was impeccably dressed in a suit of the latest design. "Alex, good to see you."  
  
"And you, Jerry." Even before he was seated, a waiter had placed his usual drink--tonic water with lemon--on the table. "How's Marnie?"  
  
"Well, thank you. She's back in Canberra with our daughter, awaiting the arrival of our first grandchild."  
  
Alex smiled. "Congratulations. Boy or girl?"  
  
"Can you believe it, we don't know? Barb and her husband want to be surprised." Norcott shook his head. "In this day and age."  
  
"There's something to be said for a little mystery in life. When's the big day?"  
  
"Looks like tomorrow. In fact, I'll be catching the shuttle back home as soon as you and I are finished here."  
  
Alex had known Jerry Norcott for twenty-five years and recognized a hint when he heard it. "Thanks for making the time to meet with me. I won't keep you long."  
  
His companion raised his brows in mock surprise. "You say you want to talk about _Voyager_'s Maquis and it won't take long? Are they all turning themselves in?"  
  
"Should they?" Alex asked quickly. "Not one of them has received so much as a target letter." Protocols within the Department of Justice required that targets of investigations be notified of the investigation, unless such notice would compromise the investigation or unless Federation security was at stake. More than eight years after the fact, it would be hard to argue that either consideration applied to Chakotay's Maquis cell.  
  
"You know the policy, Alex. All known Maquis are to be indicted and tried. That's been S.O.P. for years now."  
  
"_Voyager_'s been back for two months. Why the delay in acting?"  
  
Norcott sipped his drink before answering. "Starfleet asked us to wait until the Board of Review on Captain Janeway closes. They may need testimony from some of the Maquis in her crew, and it's easier all the way around if they aren't being prosecuted at the same time."  
  
This was very close to what Alex had guessed. If the Admiralty was still undecided on what it wanted to do with Janeway, they would want to hear testimony from her Maquis crew that was untainted by outside influences. By all accounts, _Voyager_'s crew had become very close-knit, but as long as none of them felt personally threatened, they were likely to be candid in their responses. Once the prosecutions began, they could be expected to close ranks and support one another. "Tell me," he said, "are the indictments already under seal?"  
  
Shaking his head, Norcott said, "You know how it works. I can't tell you that." Then he cocked his head. "You aren't here out of idle curiosity. Who's your client?"  
  
"Let's hold on to that for just a moment. Tell me something first. What's your intent here, Jerry? Are you open to time served and probation? Or you planning on making a political statement?"  
  
With a shrug, Norcott settled back in his chair. "I'll tell you the truth, Alex. I don't know. The President would prefer that we handle this with as little publicity as possible. She doesn't want to do anything to tarnish _Voyager_'s reputation. On the other hand, there is a vocal handful in the High Council who still see the Maquis as traitors and as one of the root causes of the Dominion War. They want to set an example."  
  
"Yes, I know," Alex murmured. "Led by Ambassadors Fav of Meezan and Garch of Benzar. I've heard the rhetoric."  
  
"It's not just rhetoric. There's a fair amount of truth to it." Norcott eyed him closely. "I have to admit, you surprise me. You supported the prosecution of every Maquis brought to trial to date, despite your opposition to the Treaty. I thought you'd take a hard line on this."  
  
"Yes, I supported a hard line with the first group of Maquis you brought to trial. As I recall, that was Eddington's cell, and many of them had committed treason. It was war, Jerry, and war requires a different way of thinking." Alex leaned across the table to make his point. "But check the records. There have been fewer trials and more plea bargains as time passes, and in the past two years, almost every defendant has received probation."  
  
"So Ambassador Fav informed me," Norcott said dryly. "I see your point, but I can't simply tell them all that the Federation will forgive them if they promise to be good."  
  
Alex smiled. It was the opening he'd been waiting for. "Not _all_ of them."  
  
Norcott sat back and studied him for a moment. "Who's your client, Alex?"  
  
"Commander Chakotay. Let me tell you about the proposition he'd like to make."  
  
"Chakotay?" Norcott lifted his wine glass. "You've got my attention. What do you have in mind?"  
  
Alex quickly outlined the proposition. "My client is willing to plead guilty to up to four felony counts of mayhem and theft, and to serve up to six months in prison. In exchange, no one else from his former Maquis cell will be charged. I'm sure you can see the advantages," he finished. "It should be enough to satisfy Fav and Garch without overly upsetting the President."  
  
"Yes," Norcott said slowly. "It is an...interesting idea. Your client is solid with this? It's not just a trial balloon that will pop if it floats too long?"  
  
"He means it." Alex took a crusty roll from the breadbasket and broke it open. "You don't know my client yet, but I assure you, he is a man of his word."  
  
"Actually, I had heard that already." Norcott sipped his wine, his eyes hooded. _The man_ _must be a formidable poker player,_ Alex reflected. "Six months won't do. It will have to be five years."  
  
"He's already served eight years on _Voyager_, Jerry. With distinction, I might add. One year."  
  
"I'll think about it. Talk it over with my staff. But I can't see this working with anything less than four years."  
  
"Talk it over. And be reasonable. But please don't take too long, Jerry. There are nearly thirty lives at stake. More, if you count the families involved." Alex fixed his gaze on him. "There's justice and then there's justice. This is a chance to do the right thing."  
  
"You may be right," Jerry said, "but that doesn't change the fact that I can't decide this unilaterally."  
  
Alex nodded, but he thought, _And that is the difference between us. When I was appointed, I assumed it was my show and wouldn't settle for anything else. You always look for the political angle._ Aloud, he said, "Let me know. Now, do you have time for dinner, or do you have to catch the shuttle?"  
  
"I hear Chef made the quail." Norcott said. He was unmistakably changing the subject. "That's worth waiting to catch the red eye. However do you persuade him to do that for you?"  
  
  
**Wednesday, February 6, 2380, Conference Room 33-B, Central Admin Bldg., Starfleet HQ  
(16:00 hours San Francisco local time)**  
  
"Lieutenant Torres, what, in your opinion, was the biggest error that Captain Janeway committed in the Delta Quadrant?" Admiral Nechayev didn't look up from her notes as she asked the question.  
  
B'Elanna blinked, uncertain if she had heard correctly. Even though she hadn't really known what to expect from this interview, nothing about it had been what she'd imagined. More than six hours ago, she had entered this windowless conference room in headquarters and found it was set up as formally as a courtroom. B'Elanna had been directed to sit in a chair and subjected to questioning that felt more like the interrogation of a hostile than an educational review.  
  
Captain Janeway had nodded at her and smiled, but the smile was tight and did not reach her eyes. She looked tired, B'Elanna thought, wound tightly but tired, like she had during so many crises on the ship when nothing but coffee and determination kept her on her feet. It made B'Elanna angry to see her like that once more. It shouldn't be this way, it shouldn't be this way at all. The fact that _Voyager_ made it back was a miracle for which Janeway was largely responsible; why couldn't the Admiralty see that? She was fully prepared to make that clear.  
  
But the first thing they'd asked her was to describe the three main safety protocols she utilized for the warp core on _Voyager_. When she finished, some thirty minutes later, they'd asked her to describe the maintenance protocols for the gel packs. That was followed by a request to explain how she integrated the Zornon cloak, the Borg transwarp coil and _Voyager_'s warp drive, and finally, she fielded a volley of questions about what went wrong.  
  
More than three hours later, they still hadn't asked a single question about Captain Janeway--until Admiral Nechayev, eyes on the PADD lying in front of her, casually asked her what the captain's biggest mistake had been.  
  
"Ma'am?" B'Elanna asked, confused. "Could you repeat the question?"  
  
Nechayev looked up now, her brown eyes snapping with impatience. "What was Captain Janeway's biggest mistake in the Delta Quadrant, in your opinion?"  
  
So. Here it was, and it was the equivalent of asking when had she stopped beating her husband. How was she to answer such a question? If she said the captain made no mistakes, they wouldn't believe her; but what could she safely point to without damaging the captain's case?  
  
Trying to think, she studied the faces of the three Admirals. Nechayev was tapping her finger, increasingly impatient; Blanc was scowling, as he had all day; and Ross was leaning forward slightly, as if her answer was extremely important to him. She glanced sideways at Captain Janeway and saw that she, too, was suddenly tense.  
  
But the most interesting thing was Commander Thev. Her antennae were relaxed and in a neutral position. She was the only one who didn't seem concerned about B'Elanna's answer. Why?  
  
The explanation almost exploded in B'Elanna's consciousness: the question wasn't about Captain Janeway. It was about B'Elanna herself. It was to see what a former Maquis would say, given carte blanche to second-guess a Starfleet commander.  
  
"Lieutenant?" Nechayev prompted, breaking into her thoughts.  
  
"Sorry, ma'am. I was just thinking. The biggest error Captain Janeway made in the Delta Quadrant?" She began to nod. "Unquestionably, it was cutting her hair."  
  
Nechayev blinked. "What?"  
  
"Cutting her hair. It was very long, you see, and then she cut it very short."  
  
Ross leaned forward. "Lieutenant, you were asked a serious question."  
  
"And I gave you a serious answer, sir. You didn't see that haircut." She glanced at Janeway. "Sorry, Captain, but it's true. I'm really glad you're growing it out again."  
  
Nechayev said coldly, "Lieutenant, while we all appreciate your sense of aesthetics, the question referred to Captain Janeway's command. Surely she made decisions you questioned."  
  
B'Elanna drew herself fully erect in the chair. "Admiral Neycheyev, it's true that I had personal reservations about some of the captain's decisions. Sometimes I disagreed with her, and I made her aware of those disagreements at the time. But I always deferred to her rank and experience, and in hindsight, her decisions turned out to be in the best interest of the ship. I am not in a position to call any of her decisions incorrect now."  
  
Was it her imagination, or did Nechayev's mouth curve ever so slightly upward? Blanc's scowl definitely deepened, and Ross leaned back. His brows were furrowed together. His gaze was fixed on her. "Lieutenant, the record indicates that you volunteered to be assimilated by the Borg."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"We had an opportunity to disrupt the Collective, perhaps permanently. We had the means to do so with reduced risk to the ship. The mission required an engineer." She shrugged, feeling that the need for her participation was obvious.  
  
"Captain Janeway has extensive experience as an engineer."  
  
B'Elanna caught his implication, that Janeway could have handled the engineering aspects without her help. "The mission had a better chance of success if there were two of us with that expertise. And frankly, I thought it was likely that the Queen would focus her attention on the captain, making it unlikely that she would be free to roam the sphere."  
  
"Why was she going at all?" Blanc asked, his voice almost a growl.  
  
"Because she didn't want to expose anyone else to the risk of assimilation, and because she knew the Queen expected it." She paused, then added, "I don't think you can underestimate the antipathy the Queen holds--held--for Captain Janeway. It was pathological."  
  
Blanc looked as if he wanted to say something else, but after a moment, he just shook his head. Nechayev looked to the men on either side of her. "Any further questions, gentlemen? Commander Thev, do you have any questions for this witness?"  
  
"Only one." B'Elanna turned toward the Andorian expectantly. "Lieutenant, just how short did she cut her hair?"  
  
B'Elanna smiled and raised a finger to her earlobe. "To here."  
  
"Kathryn, what were you thinking?" Thev shook her head in dismay as she leaned back, her antennae forming a perfect 'O.' "I have nothing more for this witness."  
  
Admiral Ross nodded. "Thank you. Lieutenant Torres, you may go. On your way out, you will be given a list of shipmates who have been released from the sequestration order. Thank you for your cooperation."  
  
Surprised, B'Elanna rose. She looked at the dais with some confusion, but the admirals were all busy studying their notes; she was clearly dismissed. As she walked out, though, Commander Thev winked at her and Captain Janeway smiled, a full and genuine smile this time.  
  
  
**Wednesday, February 6, 2380, Home of Adm. Owen Paris, San Francisco  
(18:00 Hours San Francisco local time)**  
  
The Paris family gathered in the kitchen that evening to hear B'Elanna's account of the interview. While Alicia prepared dinner, B'Elanna sat at the table with Owen and Icheb. Miral was squirming in her lap, playing with two small toys and babbling quietly. When she had described the questions and the attitude of everyone else in the room, she said, "It wasn't what I expected, not at all."  
  
"I think," Owen said slowly, "that there's more than the future of Kathryn Janeway being decided here."  
  
"What do you mean?" Tom asked. He stood behind B'Elanna, trying to ease the tension in her neck.  
  
"The rumor mills have been working overtime around HQ lately. Until a few days ago, it was being taken for granted that all of _Voyager_'s Maquis would face some kind of prosecution. That meant no one had to think seriously about the issue of what to do with you. If you were convicted, you wouldn't be eligible to be in Starfleet." He turned and began making faces at Miral, who laughed in delight. "But a new rumor started early this week--that there's not going to be any prosecutions." Looking up at B'Elanna, he added, "That means that Starfleet is going to have to decide whether or not to confirm Kathryn's field commissions."  
  
B'Elanna shifted Miral to her grandfather's lap as she spoke. "That would explain it. It felt like they were assessing me more than they were assessing her."  
  
"They probably were. My guess is that they wanted to get a feel for whether you were good officer material or just a renegade biding time." Miral began to laugh out loud and grabbed onto his shirt, babbling softly. Owen's voice shifted into grandfather mode. "And I'm sure your mommy did a fine job, aren't you, Miral? Just a fine job."  
  
The sound of the strict and fearsome Admiral Paris talking baby talk was so incongruous that Tom couldn't help smiling. "Do you think it's possible, Dad? Do you think they'll let us stay in?"  
  
Owen looked up, surprise on his face. "I think they may confirm the Maquis commissions," he said carefully.  
  
None of them missed the reservation in his voice, but it was Alicia who prompted him, "But?"  
  
For a moment, Owen was silent. Then he said, "Damn it, son, I didn't want to be the one to say this to you. I don't want you to think this was my idea or that I even agree with them."  
  
The confusion in Tom's eyes cleared and was replaced with bitterness. "Oh. I see."  
  
"Well, I do not." Icheb spoke for the first time. "What is the difficulty?"  
  
"He means that they might confirm B'Elanna's rank, and everyone else from the _Liberty_, but not mine." Tom walked across the room to stand by the window. "I'm not eligible to be in Starfleet anymore."  
  
B'Elanna frowned. "I don't understand."  
  
"I'm a convicted felon." Tom's voice was harsh. "And I have a General Discharge on my record. Starfleet doesn't believe in second chances for people like me."  
  
"That's ridiculous." B'Elanna went to him, put her hand on his arm, but he wouldn't look at her.  
  
"Surely your performance on _Voyager_ will outweigh that," Icheb said. He looked at Owen. "Adm-- uh, Father?"  
  
"I'm afraid not," Owen said. "It's the discharge that's the biggest obstacle. If all the other Maquis are permitted to remain in the service, Tom's conviction for being in the Maquis might have been overlooked. But he received a General Discharge in lieu of court martial. No one has ever been accepted back with that on their record."  
  
"There must be a way," B'Elanna protested. "He's not the same person he was then. He's changed so much."  
  
"It doesn't matter." Tom cut her off, but he didn't sound angry any longer. He sounded tired. "I was wrong at Caldik Prime, B'Elanna, and I was wrong in the way I handled it afterwards. Something like that _should_ have lasting consequences." He patted her hand. "I'm okay. It's just that sometimes I can convince myself that it never happened."  
  
Owen said miserably, "Tom, I--"  
  
"I know, Dad. And I'd rather hear it from you than some malicious little goon at Headquarters." He shrugged. "What the hell, it frees me up to think about career options. Look, I'm going to take a walk now. Just to think things through."  
  
"I'll come, too," B'Elanna said quickly.  
  
He shook his head. "Thanks, but I'd like to be alone. Don't worry, I'll be back in plenty of time for dinner."  
  
The only sound as he left the room was Miral's uncertain gurgle. She had sensed the sudden tension in the room, and her face was beginning to scrunch up, a signal that crying was about to begin. B'Elanna saw it and quickly lifted her from Owen's lap. She began pacing in the silent room, bouncing Miral and trying to get her own emotions under control.  
  
"Owen," Alicia finally said. "B'Elanna's right. There must be a way."  
  
"I don't see how." He sounded depressed. "I've looked into this, Sweetheart. It would take a special order from the President, assuming that Starfleet decides to overlook convictions related to service in the Maquis."  
  
Alicia's face relaxed into a smile. "There, you see? I told you there was a way."  
  
"But--"  
  
"You didn't say it would be easy, Owen. You just said it could be done." She stood. "Now. How does one go about getting a special order from the President?"  



	5. Act 3, part 1

  
**ACT THREE**  
  
**Monday, February 11, 2380, Jupiter Station  
(10:42 Starfleet Standard time)**  
  
The JAG officer who had come to Jupiter Station appeared to be very young and very ill. There were purplish circles under his eyes, which were puffy and bloodshot, and his skin had a greenish tinge. Haley took one look at him, sat him at the kitchen table, and brought him a cup of peppermint tea. "There," she said. "That should help settle your stomach. Spacesickness?"  
  
The young man nodded. "I thought this trip would be short enough that I'd be all right, but--" he shrugged. Then he looked at the other two occupants of the table, frowned, and took another sip of tea before speaking. "I'm Lieutenant John Guiness, Judge Advocate General Corps. I'm here to speak with Dr. Mark Zimmerman."  
  
"That's me," Mark Lewis said. "You've already met my sister Haley. The handsome gentleman beside me is Dr. Lewis Zimmerman, the famed holographic scientist."  
  
Guiness nodded. "I've been assigned to work with former _Voyager_ crew members who encounter legal difficulties arising from their return to the Alpha Quadrant."  
  
"The only difficulty Mark has had," Lewis said, "is from that ridiculous Starfleet order. He _needs_ that mobile emitter--"  
  
"Lewis, please. I can speak for myself." Mark looked at the lawyer. "Are you here about the emitter, or something else?"  
  
"Both, I suppose." Guiness hoisted his briefcase to the table. "I've come about the lawsuit."  
  
"Oh. But I thought you were supposed to represent me, not Starfleet."  
  
"That's right." The young man covered his mouth and burped quietly. "Excuse me. Would it be possible to have some more of that tea?"  
  
"Of course." Haley refilled his cup at once.  
  
"Here's the thing, Doctor." Reaching into the briefcase, he removed a PADD. "This lawsuit is about to get thrown out of court."  
  
"Why?" Lewis asked indignantly.  
  
"In the first place, you can't sue Starfleet in a civilian court. It doesn't have jurisdiction. The only place you can sue Starfleet is in the Federation Court of Claims."  
  
"We'll refile." Lewis folded his arms and glared at him.  
  
"It still won't do you any good. Starfleet is specifically exempt from the Life Forms with Disabilities Act, which you would have known, Dr. Zimmerman," Guiness paused and glared at Lewis, "if you had consulted a lawyer before filing this. It was you that filed it, wasn't it, Dr. Zimmerman?"  
  
"Well, yes."  
  
"Good." He shifted to look at Mark Lewis. "Did you know about it ahead of time, Dr. Zim--oh, this is going to get confusing. May I call you Mark? Did you know about it ahead of time, Mark?"  
  
Mark shook his head. "No, but how did you know that?"  
  
"There are several people in Headquarters who know Dr. Zimmerman fairly well. They felt certain he had done this on his own." Guiness took another sip of tea. "Well, now that we have that settled, we can talk about next steps."  
  
"What next steps?" Haley asked. "I mean, if the lawsuit is useless, what is there to do?"  
  
"I didn't say it was useless," Guiness said with a wan smile. "I said it was a loser. There's a difference."  
  
"I don't understand." Mark looked at him curiously.  
  
"This suit might not be worth a Ferengi's word of honor from a legal perspective, but politically it's one of the most effective things to hit HQ in years." He shook his head in disbelief. "First time I have ever seen the Judge Advocate General really angry. It seems the order telling you to turn over the mobile emitter came from the Engineering section, and as usual they didn't bother to consult with anyone about it. The T-JAG has issued a written opinion that anyone who tries to decompile or reverse engineer that device will be violating the Temporal Prime Directive and subject to immediate prosecution."  
  
Lewis leaned back and grinned. "Ha!"  
  
"Does that mean I get to keep the emitter?" Mark asked, ignoring him.  
  
"That depends. If you and Dr. Zimmerman are willing to file affidavits under oath that he was the one who filed the lawsuit and leaked it to IIN, then Starfleet is willing to grant you a life estate in the device. If you can't or won't sign those affidavits, you are ordered to give it to me so it can be destroyed."  
  
"I don't understand. What does that mean?"  
  
"A life estate interest means you control it for as long as you live, but when you die--" Guiness broke off and looked at him, puzzled. "Is that the right word for a hologram?"  
  
"My matrix will degrade irrevocably someday," Mark assured him. "That's the same as death for a hologram."  
  
"Oh. Well, when, um, your matrix degrades irrevocably, the emitter becomes the property of Starfleet automatically. While you're still, uh, functional you can't sell it or give it away, and you can't leave it to anyone in a will." Guiness eyed him hopefully. "Does that sound all right to you?"  
  
Mark nodded slowly. "Yes. That sounds more than fair. Uh--does this mean they aren't going to kick me out of Starfleet because of the suit?"  
  
"Not if you can truthfully state you didn't authorize the lawsuit or leak it to the press." Guiness pushed a PADD toward him and another toward Lewis. "Read these and tell me if you can sign them under oath. If the answer is yes, I'll administer the oath and Haley and I will act as witnesses. And then maybe you could find a place where I could lie down?"  
  
"I can do that?" Haley asked.  
  
"You're an officially recognized sentient life form," Guiness told her. "Of course you can."  
  
Mark reached for the PADD eagerly. "I can't believe it's turning out this well."  
  
"See?" Lewis said. "I told you it would work. You should trust me. Now, Lieutenant, when can Mark here go back to Earth?"  
  
  
**Monday, February 11, 2380, Private Dining Room at Sisko’s Restaurant, New Orleans  
(12:00 New Orleans local time)**  
  
"Thank you all for coming," Neelix said, standing at the head of the dinner table. "I know it was short notice." He looked at his guests, members of the _Voyager_ Family Association--Anne Carey, Kaylyn Richardson, Mitch Dalby, Alicia Paris, Gretchen Janeway and Dr. John Kim. He had met them all at the abbreviated Prixin celebration nearly eight weeks before but hadn't seen them since.  
  
"When the Talaxian ambassador sends an invitation to a four-star restaurant, it's hard to say no," Anne Carey said, smiling. "I've heard of Sisko's, but I've never been here before."  
  
"And besides," Mitch Dalby added, "your message was intriguing. Now that _Voyager_'s home, I didn't think there was anything more for the Family Association to do, other than plan reunions in the future."  
  
Neelix lifted a hand. "Not at all. In fact, there is something very important we can do. We can try to correct an injustice that is taking place even as we speak."  
  
Kaylyn Richardson shook her head. "I think it's too late for Marla and the others from the _Equinox_."  
  
Everyone but Dalby and Anne Carey nodded sympathetically. Dalby simply frowned, but Anne said, "I don't understand."  
  
"Hadn't you heard?" Dr. Kim asked. His hair was gunmetal gray and his eyes lined, but otherwise he looked just like Harry. It was rare for him to come to a VFA function without his wife; but her sister had just suffered a burst appendix and Mary was at her side, keeping the nurses organized. "They were offered a choice of facing criminal prosecution or taking a Dishonorable discharge. They took the discharge. Most of them have already left the planet."  
  
"It wasn't a dishonorable discharge, it was a General Discharge, Other Than Honorable," Alicia Paris corrected. "There's a difference."  
  
"Not much of one," Kaylyn said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.  
  
"I hadn't heard," Mitch said, clearly upset. "They did that to Starfleet regulars?" His eyes turned bleak. "Jeez, what will they do to the Maquis?"  
  
"You haven't heard about it because of that stupid sequestration order," Kaylyn said. "Starfleet isn't exactly making a public announcement, but word would get around anyway if the crew could just talk to one another. I don't think it's a coincidence."  
  
Neelix said, "Yes, but fortunately, Mrs. Paris remembered that the order doesn't apply to civilian family members. _We_ can talk to one another. And I think we need to move quickly to try to undo what has been done already, and to prevent it from happening to others."  
  
"The Maquis?" Gretchen asked.  
  
"Yes, and Tom." Alicia Paris looked around the table. "Tom also has a General Discharge on his record. Starfleet won't let him stay in the service, even though I think he has earned that right. I think every member of _Voyager_'s crew has earned that right."  
  
"No argument here," Anne said.  
  
Mitch shook his head. "What can we do about it? It's Starfleet business, and let's face it, they don't exactly welcome advice from outsiders."  
  
"Well," Neelix said slowly, "we can petition the President of the Federation for an executive order."  
  
"Would that work?" Kaylyn asked.  
  
"Oh, yes," Alicia assured her. "The President is the Commander in Chief of Starfleet. She doesn't involve herself in disciplinary matters very often...well, ever...but she has the authority if she chooses to."  
  
"Would she do that?" Dr. Kim asked. "Would she even agree to listen to us?"  
  
"I think she would at least meet with us," Anne Carey said. "She did before."  
  
"And, as Talaxian ambassador, I have a certain entrée," Neelix added. "It seems to me that we could both try--the VFA and me, I mean."  
  
Gretchen said wryly, "Let her have it with both barrels?"  
  
"Why not?" Alicia asked. "She needs to know how people feel about it."  
  
"She knows how the families feel," Kaylyn said. "Why would that be persuasive?"  
  
"But what if other people felt the same way?" Dr. Kim asked. "I'm sure we could get other people, not just members of our families, to agree." He looked up in excitement. "If each member of the VFA could get even ten more signatures--she'd have to consider it, wouldn't she?"  
  
"A signed petition is an excellent idea," Gretchen said, "but ten signatures per person may be ambitious. I get the feeling we don't have a lot of time left."  
  
"Five signatures, then, or two," Dr. Kim said. He was warming to the idea quickly. "Or as many as we can get in a week."  
  
"Do you really think anything we do will make a difference?" Mitch asked. "There are millions of people in the Federation. Why should the President listen to a couple hundred of us?"  
  
"That," Gretchen said, "is an excellent point. We need more than just a petition. We need a public relations campaign. People need to know how deserving Chakotay and Tom and the rest of the Maquis crewmembers are."  
  
"If people knew about the way Tom captured..."  
  
"Neelix," Alicia cautioned. "We can't breach security. But..." her smile became ever so slightly malicious "...there's nothing that stops us from noting that Tom conducted himself bravely in a mission that has been designated top secret."  
  
For the first time, Mitch Dalby's expression lightened. "My friend at IIN could do something good with that."  
  
Neelix stared at him. "You're the leak to IIN?"  
  
Mitch shrugged. "Rhonda forced it out of me."  
  
John Kim laughed. "Excellent! If we can plant a few stories in the popular press about Tom's heroism and Chakotay's bravery and the sacrifices made by the others, the President will have to pay attention to us."  
  
"Count me in," Kaylyn said quietly. "Marla would want me to help her friends."  
  
"This is going to require a great deal of organization," Anne warned. "And we have to pick an official spokesperson." Her eyes twinkled. "Although it seems we have at least one unofficial spokesperson already."  
  
Mitch raised his hand, grinning. "I nominate Anne Carey."  
  
"Second. All in favor?" Alicia asked quickly. "It's unanimous, then. You're the logical choice, Anne. She'll remember you."  
  
Anne flushed but began speaking rapidly. "We're going to have to agree on the language for the petition. And we'll need team captains or something similar, to get in touch with everyone and keep the process moving. And we'll need talking points--"  
  
"Why don't I ask them to serve the lunch," Neelix said, smiling broadly. "We can plan while we eat."  
  
  
**Wednesday, February 13, 2380, Grounds of Starfleet Academy, San Francisco  
(22:15 local time)**  
  
Kathryn waved at the two cadets on guard duty and saw that it was Baber and Cole again. She wondered what they had done to earn the demerits that resulted spending the past 15 nights pacing as sentries. They probably wondered what she was doing, running by moonlight. Or perhaps not. By now, they must have decided she was crazy. No one used the Academy running track at night in February, when the temperature dropped sharply and the wind off the ocean was raw.  
  
She welcomed the slap of the cold moist air against her face. It was bracing after the long and dreary hours of sitting, first in the conference room, giving or listening to testimony, and then in her apartment with Dae, rehashing or preparing testimony. The days were becoming blurrily monotonous, and she was losing track of who had said what in the parade of officers and crew who had been called to the stand. Running helped focus her thoughts and tire her body sufficiently so she could sleep.  
  
As she ran, she began to compose her daily letter to Chakotay in her mind. The letters had become more than a way of reaching out to him; they were also forming a journal of sorts. _It's been a long day_, she began. _I spent almost all of it answering questions. And most of the questions were about you and Seven._  
  
It had taken all these weeks, but the topic of Chakotay had finally come up. Even though she had been expecting it, Kathryn was caught off guard by the way it was broached. Admiral Nechayev had been exploring the contacts with species 8472 for over an hour when she paused, and then asked, "Captain Janeway, at what point did you commence a personal relationship with your executive officer?"  
  
Not following the train of thought that led from the description of the last conversation with the ersatz Boothby to this, Kathryn blinked. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
"It's a simple question. At what point did you and Chakotay begin a personal relationship?"  
  
"A little more than a year ago, while _Voyager_ was on New Hope." Kathryn realized that the subject had changed and rearranged her thoughts.  
  
Nechayev's face pinched slightly. "Are you certain of that? The media seems to think otherwise."  
  
"The Risian Ribald is not the best source of factual information," Kathryn said with a smile. "I assure you, I am quite certain of the timing."  
  
The admiral nodded. "Your report on this subject addresses the reasons why you felt it was acceptable to deviate from recommended protocol. However, there is one factor which your report does not address. Had you forgotten that Chakotay was technically your prisoner, albeit on parole?"  
  
"After seven years of working together, that was no longer a consideration. He had proven his loyalty to the ship and to our mission repeatedly. I had no qualms about his ability and his intention to lead _Voyager_ home again if anything happened to me." Kathryn spoke calmly, knowing that any emotional response would be taken as defensiveness.  
  
"Yet you often disagreed about the best way to accomplish that, didn't you?" Nechayev regarded her coolly. "You mentioned at least two significant disagreements, over the Borg and over the _Equinox_."  
  
"That's what a first officer is supposed to do--challenge the thought process behind difficult decisions." Kathryn felt her face heating.  
  
"So, you found those disagreements were valuable?"  
  
"Yes. Uncomfortable, but in the long run important. They helped crystallize my thinking."  
  
"And did you have any similar disagreements after you began your relationship?"  
  
Kathryn shook her head. "No. But in the last year, no situations arose in which we were in disagreement."  
  
Nechayev tilted her head. "I believe that is my point, Captain. Was that coincidence, or predictable result?"  
  
"I believe it is coincidence, since the Commander has never hesitated to voice his opinion on anything." But that was something Kathryn hadn't considered before. She'd considered it a stroke of luck that nothing had arisen in the past year on which she and Chakotay were divided. Was it possible that the personal relationship made one, or even both, of them more inclined to simply go along with the other?  
  
_I don't think that happened_, she thought. _I don't think so._  
  
She looked over and saw Dae frowning. A crick began to form in the small of her back, and she tried to ease it by flexing her spine with as little movement as possible.  
  
"Why did you let Annika Hansen leave the ship?" Nechayev asked.  
  
For just a moment, Kathryn tried to understand the connection between that question and the previous one. Then she realized there probably wasn't one. The admiral was just changing subjects again. "She wished to leave to join the colony of former drones. I had no authority to stop her."  
  
"And yet, when she left the ship voluntarily three years earlier, you refused to allow it. You led a raid into the heart of Borg territory to bring her back."  
  
"That was different. She didn't really want to leave the ship then, but she thought her presence was endangering us." Kathryn frowned deeply. “The Queen communicated with her one day and she left the next. It was self-evident.”  
  
"So, Seven sincerely wanted to leave both times, but the first time you chose to ignore her wishes and the second time you honored them." The admiral raised her eyes and caught Kathryn's gaze. "Did something happen in between the two events to make you more willing to let her go?"  
  
"No." Puzzled, Kathryn looked at her closely. "Are you asking if I had some kind of falling out with Seven?"  
  
"Not necessarily a falling out. Perhaps simply...a bit of rivalry."  
  
"Rivalry?" Completely lost, Kathryn looked back at Dae for help.  
  
Daeja leaned forward. "Admiral, are you asking if there was a rivalry between Captain Janeway and Seven of Nine over Commander Chakotay?"  
  
Nechayev's cheeks flushed hotly pink. "Yes, that is my question. The issue has been raised."  
  
Kathryn laughed. "Oh, my goodness. Was that in the Ribald, too? I missed it."  
  
"Your answer, Captain?"  
  
"My answer, Admiral, is that I cannot imagine a more ridiculous notion. It sounds like something a writer desperate for attention would conjure up over a case of beer." She shook her head, still chuckling. "Perhaps you have to know them both to appreciate how just plain silly it is."  
  
_I'll fill you in on the details later_, Kathryn continued in her mental letter, _it was almost amusing at times. Unfortunately, today just added to the feeling that this whole process is surreal. One day they are reviewing my most important decisions in exquisite detail, and the next they are checking the accuracy of the tabloid media. Some of the things I think are crucial, such as Seska's duplicity, have been given only cursory attention so far, while even our most trivial contact with the Borg has had hours devoted to it. If you asked me how things are going, I couldn't tell you._  
  
_At this point, neither can Dae, although she is by nature a pessimist and isn't happy unless she has something to worry about. The entire panel clearly disapproves of the way I handled the _Equinox_ incident, but we expected that. In retrospect, there are things I would do much differently. Dae believes Admiral Blanc will be critical of most of my interactions with the Borg, beginning with the decision to cut a deal with them up to the decision to use Icheb's deadly nanovirus in battle. If he is able to persuade the others to be of like mind, that alone could be sufficient grounds to recommend a court martial._  
  
_Right now, all I want is for this to end. If today is any indication, they are running out of things to ask me. If they put me back on the stand tomorrow, it would be my fourth day in a row, which is not supposed to happen. I half-expect to see you there--half-hope, more like. It would do me a world of good just to see you._  
  
She had completed the loop of the running track, and her lungs were burning from the cold air. It was time to stop, go inside, and actually write the letter. Then she would fall into bed and try to sleep instead of wondering what surprises waited in the morning.  
  
  
**Wednesday, February 13, 2380, Office of Adm. A. Nechayev, Central Admin Bldg, Starfleet HQ  
(23:22 San Francisco local time)**  
  
Admiral William Ross sat at a table in the office of Alynna Nechayev, building a log cabin from sticks of carrot and celery. Norman Blanc had been ranting for about half an hour and Ross had tuned him out some time ago. It had become obvious that the only way to deal with Blanc was to let him go on until he finally ran out of steam. Ross guessed that Nechayev, seated in a comfortable wingback chair, had reached the same conclusion, because she had not attempted to interrupt, either.  
  
While robbing the snack tray to build his vegetable cabin, he thought about the testimony they had heard over the last five weeks. To his mind, a clear picture had emerged; and unlike Blanc, he had no problem with the edict that had come from Admiral Hayes at the end of Janeway's testimony earlier in the day: tomorrow, end the Board of Review and deliver a recommendation, or provide him with a detailed report on the specific issues which they felt warranted more investigation.  
  
After an initial discussion in which no two of them could agree on anything, Blanc exploded. He began to pace back and forth, reciting his list of Janeway's transgressions. He went into exquisite detail on each of her encounters with the Borg, following that by other incidents which, in his mind, proved that she was a reckless and even lawless commander. His tirades were the stuff of legend in Starfleet, although this was the first time Ross had ever witnessed one. It was impressive in both depth and duration--the rival of any filibuster by a Council member.  
  
Suddenly he realized it was quiet. Blanc had finally wound down. "Well," Ross said, "It sounds to me like we've got a handle on the details."  
  
The older man glared at him, the scar on his face white against the high color of emotion. "Don't be a smartass, Bill."  
  
"He's just stating the obvious." Nechayev said from her wingback chair. Her hands were folded together. "You've just summarized seven and a half years in the Delta Quadrant in half an hour. That was impressive, Admiral."  
  
He whirled and faced her. "I don't understand Hayes. Why is he ordering us to wrap up now? We've still got a lot of ground to cover."  
  
"You keep saying that, but I don't agree." Ross stopped stacking carrots and spoke firmly. "We've been over every major event in the logs at least twice."  
  
"We've just scratched the surface." Blanc scowled at him. "There's always more than what's in the logs, you know that. It's only been five weeks."  
  
"It's been a lot more than five weeks; we've had most of those logs for over two years," Ross countered. "You just proved that you can recite them, chapter and verse. We've turned over all the rocks, and we've found all the worms there are to find. How long do we have to dig until you're satisfied?"  
  
"Gentlemen," Nechayev said, rising. "Allow me to recap. Admiral Hayes has instructed us to reach a recommendation tonight or to provide him with a list of the specific issues we feel need more examination. After three hours, we have been unable to agree on even one issue that merits more inquiry. That suggests to me there aren't any."  
  
Ross nodded. "You're right, Alynna. Let's move on."  
  
"Oh, all right then." Blanc sat in the twin wingback opposite Nechayev. "Obviously, we are recommending court martial."  
  
"No, it's not obvious," Ross said. "For what?"  
  
"For God's sake, I just told you. If nothing else, for her dealings with the Borg." Blanc frowned. "Every encounter she had with them was a violation of regulations."  
  
"Which encounter?" Nechayev asked quietly. "The one in which she rescued a kidnapped member of her crew from the Queen? Or the one in which she defeated an enemy that posed a greater strategic threat?"  
  
Startled, Blanc stared at her. "Are you defending her?"  
  
"Not at all. I am, though, trying to point out the weaknesses in the charges you proposed. Whether you like it or not, every encounter Janeway had with the Borg resulted in some kind of advantage for her ship--and possibly, the Federation. If her reports on the current status of the Collective are accurate, she may have eliminated the Borg threat for decades."  
  
"She used biological weapons to do it," Blanc countered. "That's a clear violation of at least two interstellar treaties."  
  
"Be careful, Norman," Ross said quietly. "There are those who will say we did the same thing ourselves during the Dominion War."  
  
"And I disagreed with you then, you'll recall. But at least we had some justification. We were at war, fighting for our existence."  
  
Ross simply cocked an eyebrow.  
  
Blanc's eyes narrowed. "Even if you take the Borg out of consideration, she did plenty that merits a court martial."  
  
"I disagree." Ross finally abandoned the table and came over to join the other two. "Yes, she bent some regulations into pretzels and even ignored them a time or two. But look at the circumstances she faced--seventy-thousand light years from home, no back up, no maintenance, no replacement crew, no orders." He shook his head. "The temptation to forget the book and do anything at all to get home must have been overwhelming. Hell, it did overwhelm Rudy Ransom."  
  
"Ransom is irrelevant to this discussion," Blanc said.  
  
"I don't think so. In fact, I think that comparison to Ransom and some others is particularly enlightening." Ross grabbed a small, hardback chair and sat near Blanc, looking intently at the older man. "We know with certainty of two ships that were pulled into the Delta Quadrant by the Caretaker--_Voyager_ and _Equinox_. Given the number of ships that disappeared in the eighteen months before _Voyager_ was grabbed, it's likely there are others."  
  
"And the point is?"  
  
"The point is, Janeway and her crew are the only ones who've made it back. They made it on their own ingenuity, determination and guts. And they did it while doing their best to adhere to the principles of Starfleet. So what if she wasn't perfect? She did something remarkable, and that deserves credit, not a court martial."  
  
Nechayev frowned a little. "I still don't see your point, Bill. What does that have to do with the other ships?"  
  
"It may be that some of the others who are still missing weren't flexible enough to recognize when to bend a rule and were destroyed, or perhaps they abandoned the rules altogether and went rogue, like _Equinox_, and are reaping the backlash of their actions." Ross ran a hand through his hair. "If there was one thing I learned during the War, it's that there are times when the rules work against us. There are times when a commander has to exercise the judgment to digress from the rules to achieve the objective."  
  
"Perhaps," Blanc said, angrily, "but that commander still should be called on it. You can't eat away at regulations that way. Situational ethics is no way to run the Fleet."  
  
"Well. You vote for court martial and I vote against it." Ross turned to Nechayev. "Looks like it's up to you."  
  
Alynna Nechayev sighed. "You're both right, you know. That's what makes this so difficult. There are times when there are good reasons to bend and even break rules. But no one should be allowed to do that without consequences, no matter what the reason. We can't function as an organization otherwise." She paused, then said, "I'm voting with Bill. No court martial."  
  
Both men looked at her in surprise. Blanc said, "But you just said--"  
  
"I just said there should be consequences. That doesn't mean a court martial." She leaned forward. "You haven't thought it through. There are several reasons why charging Janeway would be disastrous, and first and foremost is the fact that there is a very good chance she would be cleared."  
  
"No--"  
  
"You have to look at it realistically. She can provide a good reason for every questionable decision. The outcome was spectacularly good. You aren't going to find a single member of her crew who is willing to criticize anything she did. It will be evident to everyone that we are taking her to task for technicalities rather than merit." Nechayev shook her head. "No, if she is charged, she will be cleared, and that will leave the Admiralty looking petty at best and disorganized and illogical at worst. We can't afford that, Norman. Not now."  
  
Ross nodded. "You're right. Ambassador Brelz would jump on it." He didn't need to add that Brelz, the Tellarite representative on the Federation High Council, was arguing strenuously that Starfleet had gained too much authority during the War and that the Council should curtail it. He rarely made a public appearance without some criticism of Starfleet Command.  
  
Shoulders slumped, Blanc leaned back in the chair. "Politics."  
  
"Yes," Nechayev said, "but politics are the reality we have to deal with. Personally, I find some of Janeway's decisions appalling. As one of the leaders of Starfleet, though, I have to consider what's best for the service. So do you."  
  
Blanc sat still, staring as if looking at something far distant. "She's a maverick," he said at last. "You can't ignore that."  
  
"No, we can't." Nechayev walked over to the table and picked up a sandwich. "We can't make a martyr of her, but we don't have to lionize her, either."  
  
"So, what do you have in mind?" Ross asked.  
  



	6. Act 3, part 2

**Act Three-part 2**

  
**Thursday, February 14, 2380, , ****Room 22-A, Perry Building, ****Starfleet HQ  
(08:50 San Francisco local time)**  
  
"What do you have in mind?" Kathryn asked Dae. They sat in the conference room that had become the focus of Kathryn's existence, waiting for the panel to enter.  
  
"A bit of dramatics. If they call you to the stand again, I'm going to object vigorously and force the regulations down their collective throat. You've spent the past three days testifying and you're exhausted. Don't try to contradict me. Anyone can see it just by looking at you."  
  
Kathryn didn't bother to deny it. She _was_ exhausted; the long days of the hearing and the nights of little or no sleep were taking a toll. It was hard to imagine anything but the worst possible outcome could result from this prolonged interrogation.  
  
"If you don't take the stand, they will have to call Chakotay," Dae continued. "He's the only one of your senior staff they haven't called yet. It's very important that you remain detached while they question him. You don't want to give them any more fodder."  
  
"I understand." She just wasn't sure she wanted to follow that instruction. It would feel so good to just let go and tell them what she really thought. But she wouldn't do that, of course. She would find the strength to take Dae's advice. Just seeing Chakotay again would help.  
  
Dae began to tap her fingers on the table. "This is odd. They're twenty minutes late. They haven't been late since the first day. Something is going on."  
  
"Maybe one of them overslept," Kathryn said, stifling a yawn. After lying wide awake almost all night, she finally felt ready to go to sleep. "Admiral's prerogative."  
  
"Not this bunch." Dae's fingers picked up the tempo and her antennae began to trace small circles in the air.  
  
Kathryn took a large sip of coffee from her mug and then had to swallow quickly as the three admirals walked in. As she and Dae rose in accordance with protocol, she realized that something was different, although she could not immediately define it. Whatever it was, Dae sensed it also, because her antennae stopped circling and lay back against her head, wary and waiting.  
  
When the admirals were at their seats, Ross nodded toward them. But instead of inviting them to sit, he said, "Captain Janeway, Commander Thev."  
  
_He hasn't been that formal since the first day_, Kathryn thought. _Dae's right--something_ is_ going on._ She felt her stomach shrink in sudden nervousness but remained at attention.  
  
"The panel thanks you for your patience and cooperation during the past five weeks," he continued. "We are aware that a Review Board of this duration is rare, but missions such as _Voyager_'s are unique. However, the panel has determined that further testimony would be superfluous. The record is sufficiently complete for us to form our recommendations."  
  
Stunned, Kathryn stared at him even as Dae reached under the table and gripped her hand. _Is it over?_ Kathryn thought. _Can it finally be over?_  
  
Ross continued, "As you know, you would ordinarily have to wait a few days for the final report to learn the Board's recommendations. Because of the unusual circumstances, however, we have prepared a summary which has been downloaded on the monitor before you. It seemed only fair that you leave here today knowing the outcome. The full report will be available to you in about a week. This scrutiny may have seemed unnecessarily meticulous, Captain, but I assure you, we have all learned a great deal from it. Your experiences will have repercussions for deep space missions for years to come."  
  
He picked up the small brass hammer and struck the chimes in front of him. "This Board of Review is now adjourned." As one, the panel turned and walked out of the room. Still not certain she believed it, Kathryn watched each admiral as they passed by. Nechayev caught her eye and smiled, a cool tiny smile that was as smug as it was distant. Ross looked at her with what seemed to be genuine pleasure.  
  
_Oh_, Kathryn thought._ They're leaving and there's no Security in the room. They don't _look_ like they just handed me over to the sharks. Would they smile like that if they were recommending court martial?_  
  
Then she realized that Blanc was scowling deeply and refused to look at her as he walked out. _What does_ that_ mean?_ she wondered, but her mind refused to focus on anything but a single thought: _It's over_! Relief swept through her, but instead of making her relax it simply left her numb. It was too hard to accept.  
  
Even before the admirals were out the door, Dae activated the monitor and almost immediately yelped with excitement. "Yes! Kathryn, look at this. The very first recommendation is that Starfleet create a special Delta Quadrant citation to be awarded to the entire crew."  
  
Kathryn sat and turned her attention from the door to the monitor. Yes, there it was in ten-point font--a special Delta Quadrant citation for everyone. While not a medal, it would give everyone a unique service ribbon to counter the ribbon for the Dominion War sported by so many of their peers. It was recognition of the supreme effort put forth by the crew and something that Kathryn had scarcely dared to hope for.  
  
She let her eyes skim down the rest of the text. For herself, three recommendations of reprimand: for her relationship with her first officer while technically still her prisoner, her interrogation of Noah Lessing, and her use of biological weapons of mass destruction against the Borg.  
  
"That's really interesting," Dae said with the enthusiasm of an academic on her favorite topic. "The reference to Chakotay is minor, just a breach of protocol, and I'd bet anything that Nechayev insisted on it. She really had a bee in her hat over that one."  
  
"Bonnet," Kathryn corrected automatically.  
  
"Whatever. Now, either of the other two are serious violations of regulations and could have been used as grounds for court martial--but they chose to downplay them both. Interesting. They don't want to let it go, but they don't want to make a public issue of it, either. And as long as we're betting, I'll wager that it was Blanc who insisted on the last one."  
  
Kathryn could not follow this line of reasoning. "But...Blanc hates the Borg passionately. Wouldn't he applaud their destruction?"  
  
"Yes, but he's also one of the staunchest supporters of the older interstellar treaties. Rumor has it that Ross condoned the attempt to do in the Founders through a biological attack in the War, so he couldn't very well slam you for the same thing. No, Blanc can be obsessive about the Borg, but he's fundamentally a man of principle. As for Lessing, well, even you said you screwed up there." Suddenly, she gasped. "Oh, Kathryn, look at this!"  
  
As they scrolled down, they saw that the panel was also recommending three commendations for Kathryn. One was for valor in her rescue of Tom and Harry from the Akitirian prison, one was for scientific achievement in the neutralizing of the “dangerous substance in accordance with standing Starfleet orders” (a reference to the classified Omega particle), and one was for achieving a diplomatic truce with Species 8472.  
  
Dae's lips curved upwards. "The prison break? How typical. It's your most unequivocal violation of the Prime Directive--if they weren't going to cite you for it, they had to decorate you. It's traditional. But there's a symmetry here--one for the soldier, one for the scientist and one for the diplomat--the three roles of Starfleet. I wonder it that was intentional?"  
  
Kathryn shook her head. "It's all so...unreal."  
  
"Not unreal. Fantastic. This is fantastic," Dae said, her antennae undulating with excitement as she gripped Kathryn's arm. "It's more than fantastic, it's amazing. It's wonderful! You did it, Kathryn. You won them over."  
  
"But what about my crew?" Kathryn scrolled down further. "Here it is." As she read, a smile spread over her face. "They recommend adoption of all my requests for promotion for the Starfleet crew. And they're recommending that all my field commissions be affirmed, with term of service ending as of today. Every crewman who received a field commission is eligible to apply for continued service and will be accepted," she paused, and her smile faded as she continued to read. "...as long as they are not otherwise disqualified by Starfleet criteria."  
  
She paused, suddenly aware that Dae's antennae had curled to the right, a bad sign. "What's wrong?" she asked. "That sounded like good news to me."  
  
Dae shook her head. "It means that they're still not making a final decision about the Maquis. They must be waiting to see if they are charged by the civilian authorities. If they are, and if they are convicted, they won't be eligible any longer. I'm afraid your people from the _Equinox_ crew are already ineligible, since they've already accepted Starfleet's offer."  
  
Kathryn felt as if her mind were working in slow motion, processing facts in about three times the normal time. Of course, that's what that phrase meant. Starfleet was not going to give her crew any special consideration. "Oh, no. They deserved better than this. I should have done something more..."  
  
"Don't be discouraged. Nothing is settled yet. In fact, I'm fairly certain that _something_ is going on. There are rumors floating all around about the Maquis, but I haven't had the time to dig into them. Give me a day or two to ferret them out." She forced a smile. "And in the meantime, be happy! Yesterday we were afraid you were heading to a court martial. Today, you're a hero again. And Tuvok gets a third gold pip."  
  
"He won't be nearly as excited as Harry Kim when he finds out he's a full lieutenant. Or the Doctor, to find out he's a lieutenant commander." Kathryn chuckled at a sudden thought. "I think Tom and B'Elanna will be pleased with my recommendations, too, if they stay in."  
  
_If they can stay in_, she thought._ I was wrong. It's not over yet, not by a long shot._ With a quick movement, she shut off the monitor and stood up. "Come on, let's go. I've had all I can take of this room."  
  
As they walked out into the corridor, Kathryn was surprised to see Admiral Blanc standing there, apparently waiting for her to come out. She nodded her head in acknowledgement. "Admiral."  
  
He ignored her greeting, but fixed burning eyes on her. "You may have escaped court martial, but don't think you've won anything. You're going to have to deal with me for a long time--and anyone who thinks making deals with an enemy as amoral and just plain evil as the Borg is a good idea is not going to hold my trust."  
  
"Admiral, I understand your point and in general, I agree with it. But the situation --"  
  
"Situational ethics is not something I care to debate. You're a maverick, Janeway, and a maverick commander is a danger to any crew, any time, any circumstances." He regarded her for a moment. "I can't stand by and allow Starfleet to risk its best and brightest that way. I will do my best to see to it that you never command a ship again."  
  
Kathryn lifted her head and met his gaze straight on. There was nothing to be won by arguing with him, and much to be lost by creating a scene. "If you honestly believe I am so dangerous, then you can do nothing less. I hope that time will alter your opinion."  
  
He glared at her a moment longer, then turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor.  
  
Daeja, her antennae almost flat against her head, made a hissing noise. "That was completely inappropriate. I'll report--"  
  
"No," Kathryn said. "Let it go. I don't want to escalate the situation, not while so much is still unsettled." She took a deep breath. "I want to go home, pack and get out of town. There's still a lot of work to be done, but it's going to have to wait a few days. I just need a few days for myself."  
  
"You've earned them." Dae nodded. "All right. We'll do it your way--as usual."  
  
  
**Thursday, February 14, 2380, Visiting Officer’s Quarters, Starfleet HQ  
(10:15 San Francisco local time)**  
  
Kathryn, dressed in blue jeans and a cable-knit sweater, emerged from the bedroom of her quarters with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and carrying a larger one. "I told you this wouldn't take long."  
  
Dae's eyes opened in surprise. "That must be a new record. I didn't think you could do it."  
  
"Believe me, I am highly motivated to get out of this apartment." Kathryn set the bags down and smiled. "I'm going to call Chakotay and then head for Ohio. If anyone wants me, tell them to call my mother. She'll know how to get in touch with us."  
  
"You aren't going to Indiana?"  
  
"Eventually. Right now, Chakotay and I need some time alone. I called Mom and told her the news and asked her to spread the word. The VFA is a faster communications network than the Federation News Service." Then she tilted her head and smiled at her friend. "How do I say thank you? If this had gone the other way, your career could have tanked with mine. I just don't know the words."  
  
"Tanked?" Dae repeated. "Is that another one of those human idioms?"  
  
Kathryn laughed. "Yes, and worse, it's an outdated idiom that I picked up from a pilot with a fixation on 20th century pop culture. But you caught the meaning."  
  
"Yes. Don't thank me yet, Kathryn. I'm not sure I did you any favors."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
The Andorian's antennae curled to the right, meaning she was troubled. "If there had been a clear-cut outcome, you could at least feel some certainty about your future. If the panel had cleared you without reprimand, we'd know you were the Admiralty's gilded girl again. If they had referred you to court martial, you'd know your career was over and could start planning for that. As it is, they could just wear you down with one lousy assignment after another, until you can't take it anymore and leave on your own."  
  
"Golden girl," Kathryn corrected. "Not gilded. And don't worry. Despite Blanc's threats, I don't think they will keep me out of space. Starfleet doesn't have enough experienced captains to waste one."  
  
"You always were an optimist."  
  
"I know some people who might disagree with you on that. And you were always paranoid. They put Kirk back into space after he stole the _Enterprise_. They sent Picard back after Wolf 359." She grinned, feeling cocky and letting it show. "They need me, and that's why they _will_ give me another ship. But if they don't, well, it won't be the end of the world. For the first time in my life, I have something besides Starfleet to fall back on."  
  
"Chakotay?"  
  
Kathryn nodded. "If we both leave Starfleet, there's plenty for us to do. He plans to finish his Ph.D. no matter what happens, so we could take our matching doctorates and travel the galaxy on our own. We can find old ruins for him and new anomalies for me."  
  
Dae studied her for a moment. "That is a very glib response."  
  
"I don't mean it to be. Leaving Starfleet would be very hard for me, but not the body blow it would have been before. I can see us making a life together as civilians."  
  
"Body blow. That idiom, I understand." Dae smiled, and her antennae returned to their neutral position. "Forgive me for noting that you have never said anything like that before."  
  
"You're right," Kathryn said quietly. Even when she and Mark Johnson were engaged, she had never considered leaving the service. This was the first time in her life that she could visualize a different direction.  
  
"It's about time." Dae hugged her, then stepped back and spoke briskly. "Now, get going. Drop me a note when you're ready to talk business again. By then, I should have a handle on the rumors about the Maquis." She turned to leave but stopped at the door and turned. "You are very lucky, Kathryn. I hope it all works out for you."  
  
As soon as Dae was gone, Kathryn went straight to the comm system and entered the code she had been given for the home of Chakotay's cousin. In moments, she found herself looking at an attractive, dark-haired woman who blinked when she saw Kathryn.  
  
"Captain Janeway?" she asked, apparently surprised.  
  
"Yes. And you must be Julia."  
  
"I am. Does this mean that silly order has been rescinded?"  
  
She smiled. "Yes, the hearing is over. Is Chakotay there?"  
  
"No." Julia sounded distressed. "He's on the hoverferry for the mainland with Tervan and Cholo. He'll be so upset..." Suddenly her expression brightened. "They're supposed to dock at Sandusky in half an hour. The transporter station is only a couple of blocks away. You could meet them when they land."  
  
"I can manage that."  
  
"Dress for cold. We've had three days of snow here. And don't worry about privacy. I'll get one of the guest cabins for you." Julia looked as if she were ticking through a mental checklist. "I'll make sure it's ready--"  
  
"I don't want to be any trouble."  
  
"It's no trouble." With a warm smiled, Julia added, "Chakotay has missed you terribly. And my son is dying to meet you."  
  
"Thank you. I've missed him, too." She glanced at the chronometer. "I need to leave now if I'm going to make it."  
  
"Good. You two need all the time together you can manage. I'll see you soon."  
  
The screen went dark, and Kathryn frowned. What did that mean--all the time they could manage? Then she shrugged. Some of Dae's paranoia must have rubbed off on her. As she picked up her bags, her good spirits returned. This part of the ordeal was over. She was going to be with Chakotay. She felt her smile all the way to her toes. Surely, everything else would work itself out.  
  
  
**Thursday, February 14, Guest Lodge, Kelley’s Island, Ohio **  
(2380 13:30 local time)  
  
Pulling the plush terry robe tight, Kathryn slipped out of the bedroom of the Guest Lodge on Kelley's Island and into the kitchen. It was equipped for real cooking as well as replication, and when she opened the refrigeration unit, she found it fully stocked. Humming happily, she took out the eggs, mushrooms, and cheese and set them on the counter before going in search of a skillet. She was bending at the waist to peer into a lower cabinet when she felt a hand on her bottom.  
  
"Nice view," Chakotay said.  
  
She straightened, skillet in hand. "Be careful. I'm armed." But she couldn't maintain even false anger for more than a second and began smiling again. She had been smiling a lot all afternoon. "How does an omelet sound?"  
  
"Wonderful. For some reason, I'm famished." He grinned, flashing both dimples. "Can I help?"  
  
"Just sit down and talk to me. I haven't had anyone but Dae to talk to for weeks, and much as I love her, she can be depressing. She's absolutely convinced that my career is ruined and all the Maquis are going to prison." She took stock of her supplies and looked up. "Oh, you can go get the champagne."  
  
_We owe Julia a lot_, she thought as she began her preparations. After Kathryn's call, she had somehow arranged for the two of them to occupy the Guest Lodge on the north side of the island which, unlike the hotel and guest cabins, was normally reserved for visiting dignitaries. It was a spacious two-story on the shore. The northern face of the house afforded a magnificent view of Lake Erie. The glacial grooves themselves were visible from the back of the house. Or at least, Chakotay had told her that. Geological wonders were not high on her list of priorities at the moment.  
  
Julia had also seen to it that the refrigeration unit was stocked--there was wood for the fireplace and a magnum of champagne on ice in the bedroom. Without a doubt, Julia was a woman of resource and taste, and Kathryn liked her immensely even though they had yet to meet in person.  
  
"There's quite a bit left," Chakotay said as he returned with the bottle, still in the ice bucket, and their glasses.  
  
"I guess we had other things to do," she said with a smirk. "But I'll take a glass now. Cook's privilege."  
  
He handed her a glass and filled it almost to the brim. "There's something we have to talk about."  
  
She looked as his unsmiling face and set the glass down at once. Something was wrong. Slowly, she said, "You know, I can't remember a single happy conversation ever beginning with that phrase."  
  
Instead of laughing and telling her she was wrong, he lowered his eyes. Her stomach tightened, and she knew something was very wrong indeed. "Whatever it is, you better just tell me."  
  
"I wish the timing could be better. But there's probably no good time for this --"  
  
"Chakotay. Just tell me."  
  
He took a deep breath. "It's about the Maquis. The good news is they aren't all going to prison. In fact, not all of the Maquis are going to be indicted. Only one is."  
  
She shivered, suddenly cold. "Which one?" she asked quietly, but she already knew the answer.  
  
"Me," he said softly.  
  
For a moment, she felt that time had stopped. She wasn't feeling anything at all, not anger, not sorrow, not anything. She wasn't even certain she was breathing. When she spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper. "What have you done?"  
  
"I made a deal. I'm going to plead guilty to charges of piracy and terrorism, and in return, they will grant amnesty to everyone who was on the _Liberty_." His eyes held hers. "It was the only way."  
  
He wanted her blessing, she realized. Her understanding. Well, he wasn't going to get it. "The hell it was. What's going to happen to you? Are you going to prison? For how long?"  
  
"Three years."  
  
She fell back a step, as if she had been pushed. "Three years?" It was incomprehensible. It wasn't possible.  
  
Suddenly she realized that she was standing in the corner of the room--and cornered described her feelings perfectly. The brief numbness was replaced by a flash of heat. "How could you do that without talking to me first? I thought we were in this together."  
  
"We are," he said evenly. He had apparently decided he was not going to react to her anger, and that just infuriated her more. "But we were under orders, Kathryn, and I couldn't call you. I wrote you--it's in that PADD I gave you before--but I couldn't wait indefinitely. They would have taken the offer off the table."  
  
Part of her knew he was right, that under the circumstances he couldn't have called her, but a bigger part of her chose to ignore that point. "You can't know that. It's not just your life, Chakotay. It's mine, too." She stopped, hearing her own words. The anger took on a shade of pain. "It's mine, too. You shut me out."  
  
He took a step toward her and she backed away, unwilling to be touched yet. But he went past her to an old-fashioned paper calendar on the wall. In a swift movement, he pulled the top page down to show the month of January again. Turning to her, he said, "Look at this, Kathryn. It's three weeks ago. And in spite of the orders, in spite of the harm it will do to you if it's discovered, I have just called you. And I say..." he slowed down. "First I say, my God, you're beautiful. I dream about you every night but you are more beautiful than my dreams."  
  
"Chakotay--"  
  
"Then I say," he said forcefully, cutting her off, "that my cousin knows Alexander Fearnot. Do you recognize that name? I see you do. And Alexander Fearnot has talked to the Chief Prosecutor of the Federation and they are going to charge all of the Maquis from _Voyager_ as soon as your hearing is over. The charges won't be severe--fourth degree felonies--and they will probably get probation if they agree to the plea bargain, but they will all have felony convictions, Kathryn. They can never serve in Starfleet again. They can never fill a public office. They can never be a government contractor. Who knows what other opportunities will be lost?"  
  
She said nothing, and he took a single step toward her. "What will happen to B'Elanna, if she can't even be a Starfleet advisor? Where will Mariah Henley go, since her home has been destroyed? We taught them to live by our standards, and now we have to tell them that, in spite of all their good work, they aren't good enough?"  
  
He took another step. "But we don't have to tell them that. Alex says they need a scapegoat to prove that justice is done. Don't I owe that much to them? Don't we owe it to them?"  
  
The anger in her melted, and her chest suddenly seemed tight and her throat raw. "Yes. We do." She drew a shaky breath. "It's just that...I never imagined this. We were in Starfleet together or we left it together. I never imagined that we would be separated. We were supposed to be together."  
  
He closed the last few steps between them and held her tightly. She buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder and pushed back the sobs that had built in her lungs. Crying was a waste of energy and time--and time, she realized, was something they could not afford to waste. "How long?" she asked.  
  
"I have to go to court next Tuesday. We'll go through the motions of the guilty plea and the sentencing. They've agreed to give me 48 hours after that to 'put my affairs in order,' that was the way they phrased it." He tightened his embrace and rocked a little bit. "I'm sorry it has to be this way."  
  
She lifted her head and looked at him, then raised a hand to stroke his cheek. "Don't be. You have to do it. That's the man you are."  
  
He caught her fingers in his hand and brought them to his lips. "Will you come to court with me?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
They stood without moving, not willing to let go. Kathryn finally managed something close to a smile. "How about that omelet?"  
  
"Sounds good." But he still did not let her go.  
  
After a moment, she sighed, and laid her head against his chest.


	7. Act 4

  
**ACT FOUR**  
  
**Friday, February 15, 2380, Home of Adm. Owen Paris, San Francisco  
(16:20 hours San Francisco local time)**   
  
"Well, she's finally asleep," Tom said as he came out to the deck of the Paris home and sat down in one of the comfortably padded chairs next to his wife. "Since it's just a nap, she only needed three glasses of water and two stories. Apparently, the standards are higher for nighttime."  
  
B'Elanna looked up from the portable monitor she had brought outside. "Thanks for putting her down. I finished my letter to my uncle. Told him we'll leave for Qo'noS next week." Then she flicked off the monitor. They had been living in the Paris home since _Voyager_'s return, and while Owen and Alicia had been perfect hosts, the house got crowded at times. Very crowded. But this afternoon they had a rare opportunity, and she smiled just thinking about it. Reaching over, she ran the back of her fingers up his arm. "Let's see. Your mother is attending a lecture, your father is at work, Icheb is meeting with the Dean to go over his academic record, and Miral is asleep. Whatever shall we do with all this privacy?"  
  
Tom stopped her hand as it worked its way back down his arm. "We need to talk."  
  
Her smile faded abruptly. "Well. I guess the honeymoon is over."  
  
He took her hand. "It's important, and I really didn't want to do this with Dad or Icheb around. B'Elanna, if you want to stay in Starfleet, you should. It doesn't matter if I can't."  
  
"It certainly does matter. If they don't want you, I don't want them."  
  
With a smile, he leaned forward and kissed her quickly. "That's sweet, but it's not very realistic. You are a starship engineer. In fact, you're a brilliant starship engineer. It would be a waste of your ability to settle for anything less."  
  
"Tom--"  
  
"No, I mean it. Look, I've been giving it a lot of thought. If you get an assignment here on Earth, I can get a job piloting with one of the transport companies that service the Sol system. If they send you someplace else, I'll go with you and write holonovels. I can do that from any place."  
  
He sounded absolutely sincere, and B'Elanna knew he meant every word. "It's not that I don't appreciate the support, because I do, but why do I get the feeling something else is going on here? You're giving up too easily."  
  
"I'm not giving up, I'm being realistic. Yeah, I'd like to stay in if I can, but let's face it, the chances aren't good." He looked away. "There are too many people who remember Caldik Prime and not enough who care about _Voyager_."  
  
_Yap, jIyaj_. _Enough, I understand_. B'Elanna nodded slowly. "This has something to do with that classmate you ran into, doesn't it?"  
  
"No! Of course not." He tried looking her in the eye but wound up shrugging. "Maybe a little. He just reminded me that even though everyone on _Voyager_ forgot about what happened, the people here haven't. If I stay in Starfleet, I'll have to fight that perception for the rest of my life."  
  
"Rick Vanderford, right?" She activated the monitor and began entering commands. "After you told me about that odd little encounter, I did some checking. Your friend--"  
  
"We weren't friends, exactly," Tom corrected. "We had a few classes together."  
  
"Whatever. Lieutenant Vanderford made the headlines during the War. He was the only survivor of a recon mission into Cardassian space. Three other scout ships were destroyed or captured. After the mission review, he spent two months at the hospital facilities at Starbase 2."  
  
Tom gulped. "Fort Space Case?"  
  
"The facility for the emotionally troubled and mentally ill, yes. After his discharge, he was assigned to the Quartermaster's office at HQ and hasn't had a deep space assignment since." She swiveled the monitor so he could see for himself.  
  
"But Vanderford was a pilot," Tom said softly, then added, "You didn't hack into anything you shouldn't to get this stuff, did you?"  
  
"All public record. You just have to know where to look." She watched him as he read the material a second and then a third time. "Don't you see, Tom? They went through a war while we were gone. They've had a chance to understand fear and the mistakes it can drive a person to make. It may be that Vanderford and others like him _want _to see you back because it means there might be a second chance for them, too. You can't give up. You can't."  
  
He took a deep breath. "He didn't seem all that supportive. But I'll try. I promise you." He lowered his voice. "But if I lose this one, it's going to hurt. It's going to hurt bad."  
  
"I know." Impulsively, she moved to seat herself in his lap. "But we're in this together. The Torres-Paris family comes as a package. It's all of us or none of us."  
  
She kissed him, and this time he held her closely and kissed her back. Just as she was beginning to think they would make good use of their privacy after all, a voice called from inside.  
  
"Hey!" Harry said, stepping out to the deck. "You didn't answer the door chime."  
  
"Who gave him the entry code?" Tom asked _sotto voce_.  
  
"You did," she answered just as quietly. "Hey, Harry. We were just--"  
  
"She's gone." Harry's shoulders slumped and he looked at them blindly, not even registering what he had just interrupted. "She's really gone."  
  
He looked exhausted, B'Elanna realized. She had never seen him look so depressed. Even when he went through withdrawal from his addiction to that dark-haired terrorist Tal, he had managed to retain some of his natural optimism. They hadn't seen him for a couple of weeks, since he told them about what happened to the _Equinox_ crew and left to search for Marla and bring her back. "Sit down before you fall down," she said, sliding out of Tom's lap to another chair, "and tell us."  
  
"She's gone," he repeated as he sank into a chair near Tom. "Her sister wouldn't tell me where she went, so I tried to find the other _Equinox_ crew. Angelo and Celes left for Bajor three weeks ago. Brian Sofin signed on with a private freighter the day after the discharges were final. I couldn't find a trace of Jim Morrow; he's just disappeared."  
  
"Do you think he and Marla went off together?" Tom asked.  
  
"No. See, I finally remembered Noah Lessing's mother lives in Atlanta. She told me that Marla left with Noah for Luna City the same day that Sofin left. So, I went to Luna. It took me two days to find Noah but he told me that Marla left the very next day. He didn't know what she was planning, but she left on a transport for Rigel XII. I didn't think she planned on becoming a dilithium miner, so I checked. She never arrived there. I don't know where she got off. If the transport captain knows, he's not telling. He wouldn't even admit she was on the ship." He looked at them both, his eyes bleak. "She's gone."  
  
"God, Harry, I'm sorry," Tom said. "I know how much you loved her--"  
  
"No, you didn't. How could you, when even I didn't know how much until she left me?" He ran a hand through his hair. "We were going to get married, Tom. I told her we would as soon as the stupid sequestration order was lifted. You know what she said?" His lips curved upward, but his voice was bitter. "She said she wouldn't argue with me about it. She wouldn't argue. Of course not, because she knew she was going to run away."  
  
_He's probably right_, B'Elanna realized. The _Equinox_ crew accepted their discharges in the first week of the captain's Review Board, which meant that they had to know about the situation at just about the same time the sequestration order came down. _What do you say to a friend whose heart is broken?_ she wondered, then said tentatively, "For what it's worth, Harry, I think she loved you a lot."  
  
"It's not worth much, Maquis," he said with so much anger that B'Elanna blinked and leaned back. "If she really loved me, don't you think she would have at least left me a note or something? Don't you think she might have trusted me enough to let me decide what I want out of life?"  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Yeah. It's a pretty sorry situation." He looked from her to Tom. "You two are so lucky. Why does this keep happening to me? Did I do something terrible in a past life or something? Why can't I find someone to love me as much as I love her?"  
  
"I don't know," Tom said quietly. "But you will. You're a good guy, Harry. You'll find the right one."  
  
Harry snorted, and then shook his head. "Not me. I'm through looking. From now on, I am focused on one thing--my career. I've got a lot of lost time to make up for, but I tell you this. I'm going to be a captain by the time I'm thirty-five. That's a lot easier to do without the baggage of a family."  
  
He was harsh, as harsh as B'Elanna had ever heard him be. This had cut him deeper than anything in the past, she realized, and she could have wept for him. Or killed Marla.  
  
"I tell you what," Tom said. "I know a place not far from here where we can grab a beer or two and talk, just the two of us. Let's go, you and me, okay?"  
  
He spoke to Harry, but he was looking at B'Elanna. She didn't like it when Tom drank; it was too much like the Tom she first knew, the Tom who didn't care about himself or much of anything else. But this was different. Harry needed a safe release, and Tom was probably the only friend who could get him through it. She nodded. "And there's a sofa in the basement. I'll make sure it's got pillows and blankets so you can stay here tonight." _And if Owen Paris has never seen one of his better officers with a hangover, I'll eat my engines._  
  
Tom smiled at her, but said to Harry, "Come on, let's go."  
  
The younger man nodded and stood. "Yeah. That sounds good."  
  
Forgotten already, B'Elanna watched the two men leave. Her eyes stung with unaccustomed tears. _Kahless_, she thought. _I wish we were still on _Voyager_._  
  
  
**Saturday, February 16, 2380, Administrative Offices of the United Federation of Planets, Paris, France (11:00 hours, Paris local time)**  
  
"I wish we were still on _Voyager_," Neelix muttered, as he squirmed in the softly upholstered chair. It seemed far too squishy to be intended for hard business, and he didn't understand why the President would have it in her office. He didn't understand why he and Tuvok had been ushered into the office, only to be told to "please" wait. "At least there, I knew the protocols."  
  
Tuvok shook his head. He was sitting as erect as usual, Neelix noted, despite the concave back and thick cushions on his chair. "Even on _Voyager_, you proved adept at grasping the protocol for diplomatic contact quickly. This situation is no different."  
  
Neelix eyes bugged out. "No different?" he squeaked. "I'm about to meet with the President of the United Federation of Planets. I think that's different!" He glanced down at his olive green and chocolate brown striped suit. "Do I look all right? I prefer brighter colors, but Sarexa thought this was more ambassadorial."  
  
"You are appropriately dressed. The subdued colors are..." Tuvok paused, then continued, "businesslike. Sarexa was correct."  
  
"She usually is." Neelix sighed deeply. The mention of his new wife triggered a series of complex emotional responses that only a sigh could encompass.  
  
Tuvok raised one eyebrow. "Do you regret your marriage?"  
  
"No, not at all," Neelix said quickly. "It's just that, well, it's odd. We've known each other for nearly two years, and we were such good friends before; but now that we're married, it's like we've suddenly become strangers. We're trying to be so careful with each other that dinner is almost a formal diplomatic occasion. And--" Neelix leaned closer and lowered his voice--"to tell you the truth, I don't know if she's happy or not."  
  
Tuvok looked around the room. "Neelix. The office of the President of the Federation is not an appropriate venue for marriage counseling."  
  
"Oh, she's not here yet. Please, Tuvok, if you have any advice, I'd really appreciate it."  
  
Tuvok frowned, then said, "You've both been very busy since the wedding, haven't you?"  
  
"Oh, my, yes. Just setting up the Embassy took a tremendous amount of time. And then we've been traveling all over the planet, getting signatures for the petition and meeting with people. It's been hectic."  
  
"Leaving you little time to adjust to your new status as husband and wife." After another glance at the door, Tuvok continued, "Humans have a custom they call the 'honeymoon.' It is traditionally a time shortly after the wedding when the new couple goes off by themselves."  
  
"Yes, I remember. Tom and B'Elanna took a honeymoon in the _Delta Flyer_."  
  
"The original purpose of the honeymoon was to allow the couple an opportunity to become accustomed to sharing their lives in the intimacy of marriage, without outside distractions or other responsibilities. Perhaps you and Sarexa should take a honeymoon."  
  
"Uh, well, intimacy isn't exactly a problem..."  
  
Tuvok took a deep breath. "I was not referring exclusively to physical relations."  
  
"Oh." He thought for a moment, then brightened. "You may be right. Just this morning, as I was trimming my whiskers--"  
  
"I do not need the details, Neelix. Suffice to say you understand my point." Tuvok looked again at the door, and when it did not open, he said, "Have you considered how you will broach this topic with the President?"  
  
It was an abrupt change of topic, but Neelix was up to it. "I plan to refer to the letter I sent requesting this appointment. Everything is spelled out in it."  
  
The door finally opened, and M'Renn, President of the United Federation of Planets, entered. Both men rose at once, and Neelix had to stop himself from gaping. He thought she was one of the most striking beings he had ever seen. Tall, slender, and unmistakably felinoid, she moved with a dancer's grace across the room, her tail erect and swishing gently from side to side.  
  
"Ambassador, Lieutenant Commander, my apologies for keeping you waiting." She acknowledged them both with a nod of her white-furred head and took her seat at her desk. "Please, be seated."  
  
"No apologies necessary, Madam President," Neelix said gallantly. "I'm grateful you were able to fit us into your schedule, especially on a weekend."  
  
She smiled. "Your letter intrigued me, Mr. Ambassador. But first, may I formally welcome you to the Federation. I enjoyed your presentation to the Council. The potential for further relationships with the Delta Quadrant is appealing."  
  
"Thank you," Neelix said, unconsciously straightening in his seat. "Of course, the crew of _Voyager_ has the most experience in that regard. It would be a shame to waste it."  
  
"A nice segue into your purpose," M'Renn said, her eyes twinkling. "I must tell you, you are not the only person to make that point with me. The Voyager Family Association has provided a petition with nearly one thousand signatures in support of the former Maquis, the _Equinox_ crew, and Mr. Paris. I have also received a lengthy recommendation from the Vulcan ambassador. It was your letter, though, that caught my attention. I did not expect a resident of the Delta Quadrant to quote Shakespeare. 'The quality of mercy,' indeed. It was a powerful plea, Mr. Ambassador."  
  
"Thank you. I assure you, it came from the heart." Still uncomfortable in the soft chair, he leaned forward. "Madam President, will you consider ordering Starfleet to overlook the past and let _all_ of _Voyager_'s crew remain in the service if they wish?"  
  
"What you are asking is extraordinary. No Federation President has ever interceded on behalf of an individual before."  
  
Neelix smiled. "But _Voyager_ itself is extraordinary, isn't it?"  
  
M'Renn hummed to herself, a soft purring sound, and Neelix couldn't tell if she were amused or frustrated. "Go on."  
  
"Perhaps if I told you about Tom Paris. I mean, nobody has ever worked harder to overcome his past than Tom. He's a true inspiration." M'Renn waved a hand, and Neelix took it as a signal to continue. "You've seen his record, so you know what he did to get into trouble. When he first came on _Voyager_, he was surly, and cynical, and selfish, and nobody trusted him except possibly Captain Janeway and Ensign Kim. He was a real skirt-chaser, too. Why, once he--"  
  
Tuvok cleared his throat loudly. "Ambassador, you may be exaggerating somewhat."  
  
"Oh." Neelix reviewed his last few words and realized that Tuvok was right. "Sorry, Madam President. I do have a tendency to be dramatic. I asked Tuvok to come along to make sure I didn't embellish anything."  
  
M'Renn's bright eyes shifted from Neelix to Tuvok and back again. "Continue, please."  
  
"Well, you get the idea. But somewhere along the line, Tom realized he had a real chance to change, and he did. He's not only a great pilot, he's a good medic. It's not just that he knows what he's doing, but he's got a great bedside manner. He's brave. Actually, I think everyone on _Voyager_ is--was--but Tom did some extraordinary things. When Captain Janeway needed a spy to infiltrate the Kazon, he was willing to let us all think the worst of him so he could gain Seska's trust. And when the Kazon seized the ship, he went alone for help. And don't forget, he was responsible for taking control of that Romulan ship when we first got back to the Delta Quadrant." Out of breath from saying so much so quickly, Neelix paused.  
  
The President was nodding, her eyes half-closed. "Yes. That was a good piece of work."  
  
"But most of all, Tom became someone we all trusted. He still makes mistakes--and who doesn't?--but he's honest about them. When Tom says something, you can rely on it. He's learned that lesson." Neelix turned to Tuvok. "Well? Am I embellishing?"  
  
"No," Tuvok said. "You have accurately stated the facts. Mr. Paris may think he is more of a wit than he truly is, but he is an exemplary officer."  
  
"Tell me something," M'Renn said with a smile, her tail twitching quickly. "Did he really rescue his Maquis Warrior Princess from a crazed Vulcan?"  
  
Neelix looked to Tuvok. With the dignity that only a Vulcan could muster, Tuvok said, "The account in the Risian Ribald was not entirely accurate. Lieutenant Torres rescued herself from Ensign Vorik's...fixation."  
  
"Ah." A chime sounded, and M'Renn turned to a small monitor on her desk. "Ambassador, I must apologize again but I have to cut our meeting short. My next appointment pertains to a rather pressing matter."  
  
Neelix managed to contain his disappointment. "Of course. But will you consider the Maquis and the _Equinox_ crew as well--"  
  
"Ambassador, I must tell you that I am not inclined to act on behalf of the _Equinox_ crew," she said. "As for the others, I will think about it, but you must understand. There is a great deal of sensitivity now about the degree to which this office intrudes upon Starfleet prerogatives. I must pick my battles carefully."  
  
Tuvok rose, and Neelix followed suit. "I understand. Thank you for your consideration. And while you're thinking, please remember--'mercy is above the sceptered sway.'"  
  
"Yes, but I am neither a thronéd monarch nor God. I am only a politician." She inclined her head as if in apology. "A politician who is up for re-election next year."  
  
Tuvok turned to leave, but Neelix stood frozen in thought. He wanted to say, _What good is power, if you can do no good with it? _Or _Was it all just a lie, then, and there is no redemption in the Federation?_ Or, _Does history take note of those who act, or those who do nothing? _Then he realized that anything he said would only irritate her, and when you are seeking a favor, it is not smart to annoy the person who could grant it.  
  
Feeling defeated, he followed Tuvok out.  
  
  
**Monday, February 18, 2380, Office of Adm. J. Hayes, Central Adm. Bldg, Starfleet HQ (10:30 hours San Francisco local time)**  
  
Kathryn had not intended to return to HQ this soon, but Admiral Hayes had called the night before and asked her to return for a meeting that morning. Reluctantly climbing back into uniform, she transported back to San Francisco and reported to his office with two minutes to spare. The lieutenant acting as administrative assistant in the outer office told her to have a seat.  
  
The lieutenant kept his head down, but every so often his eyes would lift, and he would try to sneak a surreptitious glance at Kathryn. The first time, it made her wonder if her uniform jacket were askew, and she checked quickly. She still wasn't accustomed to the feel of the heavier jacket and missed the comfort of the old, familiar black and red one. The second time it happened, she realized the young lieutenant was trying to sneak a peek at the famous--or at least, notorious--Captain Janeway, and she was amused. The third time she winked at him. _Make of that what you will_, she thought.  
  
After keeping her waiting for nearly ten minutes, Jack Hayes emerged from his inner sanctum. "Captain, thank you for interrupting your leave. Please, come in."  
  
She rose, adjusted the jacket, and smiled serenely at the blushing lieutenant as she followed Hayes inside, to his public office--the one he used to greet VIPs, the media and anyone he wanted to impress. Not surprisingly, it was the best office in the Admiralty. Located in the northwest corner of HQ, it had a stunning view of both San Francisco Bay and the Academy gardens. Unlike the other admirals who tended toward stark minimalism in their décor, Hayes had added art deco touches, so that the space was both utilitarian and aesthetically pleasing. He indicated that she should take a seat in a chair at a small conference table. An insulated carafe and several mugs were in the center of the table.  
  
"Help yourself to the coffee," he said as he sat across from her. "I hear you rather like it."  
  
He was trying to put her at ease, she realized, which immediately made her wary. Admirals typically exerted themselves to make subordinates feel at ease only when they wanted something or had to deliver bad news. "Thank you, sir," she said coolly as she poured herself a cup. "Would you care for any?"  
  
"No, I've had my limit for the morning." He waited until she had finished and was settled again. "Kathryn, I don't know what to do with you."  
  
This degree of candor from the Commander of Starfleet was startling. "Sir?"  
  
"I don't know what to do with you," he repeated. "Half the people on this hallway"--the top administrative commanders of Starfleet--"want me to promote you to Admiral and assign you to Starbase 15, where you can keep an eye on the Medarian border."  
  
She blinked. "But--the Medarians haven't left their space in three hundred years. That's the most stable border in Federation space."  
  
"Exactly. They figure you can't do any harm there." He tapped a finger on the table top. "Everyone else thinks I'm a fool if I don't give you another ship and send you off on a mission of exploration. Right now, you've got more First Contact experience than any other captain in the field."  
  
"Thank you," she said, but she was suddenly subdued. The prospect of another command and another deep space assignment didn't excite her as much as she thought it would. She wanted--no, she needed--some time to get re-acclimated, to catch up on the history she had missed, the technology that had developed during the past eight years.  
  
Hayes smiled. "Don't worry. I don't propose to send you out tomorrow. God knows you've earned the right to spend some time on Earth. And the truth is, I can't decide which half of the hallway is right. You are either a great risk or a great asset, but for the moment, I can't figure out which."  
  
Her mouth twitched. "I thought that risk is our business."  
  
"So James Kirk said. And he was right in his time. But there's more to consider now." Hayes shook his head. "You are a talented commander, Kathryn. No one denies that you are resourceful, courageous, and determined. But you've been on your own for nearly eight years, without having to answer to anyone but your own conscience. That's a freedom that's hard to give up once you've experienced it. Can you work within the chain of command again?"  
  
Her instinct was to answer yes immediately, but she held back. It was the first time since her return that anyone had asked her that directly, and for the first time she realized that she wasn't certain of the answer. She hadn't had the time to assess all the changes the past eight years had wrought in her.  
  
She took a deep breath. "Admiral, I honestly don't know. I'd like to think so, but so much has happened since we got back, I've barely had time to think."  
  
He nodded and looked pleased. "Good. That tells me a lot." Rising, he walked over to the window that overlooked the Academy gardens. "When you finish your leave, I'm going to assign you to the Academy for at least six months. You'll teach some First Contact courses and get yourself caught up. At the end of that time, I'll make a decision. In the meantime, I want you to give serious thought as to what you want and whether you can adjust to the hierarchy--and yes, the bureaucracy--again. Starfleet needs good field commanders, Captain, but not mavericks."  
  
"I understand." Sensing that she was dismissed, she stood. "I'll think about it, sir. And thank you for the opportunity."  
  
His smile became rueful. "It ought to be simpler. Epic deeds should have epic rewards, but I'm afraid we live in a mundane world." Then his eyebrows came together. "One thing, Captain. If you are offered a ship, it will be with the understanding that you will not be personally involved with your first officer."  
  
_Either he doesn't know about Chakotay, or he knows, but assumes I will abandon him now._ Each option made her angry, and she felt her mouth compress to a thin line. But then, once a reprimand was in a personnel jacket, it was fair game for sniping by the higher-ups. This probably wouldn't be the last time she would be on the receiving end of a jibe like this. She looked him straight in the eye and said quietly, "I can assure you, sir, that won't be an issue."  
  
  
**Tuesday, February 19, 2380, Federation Courthouse, North American District, St. Louis  
(07:00 local time)**  
  
The courthouse in St. Louis was old. According to the cornerstone, it was constructed in 2151 and was one of the first Federation Courts built on the American continent. Since Kathryn considered the architecture of that period to be Spartan at best and ugly at worst, she found the interior to be a pleasant surprise. The courtroom itself was built in a much older style, with a great deal of polished wood and brass. As she waited in the deserted room, she inhaled the scent of lemon oil and wax. This was the kind of care that required a human touch, not merely mechanical cleaning_. Someone takes pride in their work,_ she thought idly. _There isn't a speck of dust or a fingerprint to be seen._  
  
From the large window on the east side of the room, she could see the Mississippi River in the early morning light, running high and fast from the ice storm further north. It looked angry and foreboding. It seemed to her to be an omen for the day.  
  
"It'll be snowing by the time we get home," Tervan's son Cholo said. He had somehow moved behind her without her realizing it. "This front is moving east."  
  
She nodded, struck again by the similarities in Cholo's voice and his cousin's. The young man looked a great deal like his mother, but when he spoke, he might have been Chakotay's echo. When she turned, though, she saw apprehension in his eyes. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Yeah. It's just...it didn't feel real until now, you know? It was kind of like a holovid. But being here--" he gestured around the room. "It's not a game."  
  
"No, it isn't." Kathryn laid her hand on his shoulder, reaching up because the boy was already taller than she. "You understand why he's doing this, don't you?"  
  
Cholo shrugged. "I guess. I mean, I understand why he wants to help his crew, but why didn't they all just stay on Bajor or go to Dorvan?"  
  
"They all had that chance. They wanted to come home. And now Chakotay is making certain that they have a chance to start over, with a clean slate." She looked at him intently, trying to divine what he was really thinking. "Sometimes it takes more courage to not fight than it does to fight."  
  
The boy looked over his shoulder, to where his father sat in the row directly behind the defense table. "Yeah. I guess I see that."  
  
Then the door beside the judge's bench opened, and Chakotay and his lawyer emerged. Like Kathryn, Chakotay had dressed in civilian clothing to avoid attracting attention. He wore a conservative black suit while his lawyer was dressed a bit more memorably in a tan suit, leather cowboy boots, and a silver bolo inlaid with coral and turquoise to contain his black string tie. His long white hair was tied back with a strip of thin black leather. Of course, Alexander Fearnot would be memorable no matter what he wore. His size and his aura of authority made him unforgettable.  
  
Chakotay quickly crossed to the gallery where Cholo and Kathryn stood and took one of her hands in his. Tervan came and joined them. "We'll get started in a few minutes," Chakotay said quietly. "It won't take long."  
  
Kathryn tipped her head toward the judge's bench. "Did everything go all right?"  
  
He and Fearnot had been in the judge's chambers for a conference before the official proceeding. "No problems. The judge just wanted to satisfy herself that I understand what I'm doing." Then he turned to Cholo. "Thanks again for coming."  
  
The boy straightened so that he was almost as tall as his father. "Sure."  
  
The door opened again, and a short, slightly chubby man of Polynesian descent entered the courtroom. He joined Fearnot at the counsel tables, looking a great deal like a teddy bear in comparison to the tall, fit older man. "That's Ikaika Kanemeha, the Chief Prosecutor of the Federation. Come on, I'll introduce you."  
  
He started to turn, but Kathryn stopped him. "Maybe later." She had no desire to meet the Chief Prosecutor, no matter how "friendly" this prosecution might be. If necessary, she could be diplomatic, but it didn't seem worth her energy at the moment.  
  
Chakotay nodded. "All right. Here's what's going to happen. In a few minutes, Judge Meval will come out. She's Betazoid, by the way. She'll ask me the same questions she just did in her chambers, only this time for the record. After she accepts my plea, she'll issue the sentence and that's it. It's short and simple."  
  
_Short and simple_, she thought._ Our lives disrupted and forever changed in just a few short minutes._  
  
Before any of them could respond, the door opened again, and the bailiff entered, dressed in the gray and white uniform of Federation Security. "Get ready," he said succinctly.  
  
With a nod, Chakotay left her and took his place next to Fearnot at the defense table. Kanemeha moved to the prosecution table to the right. Kathryn slipped into the front row of the gallery with Tervan and Cholo, directly behind Chakotay.  
  
The door opened again. "All rise for the Honorable Kelana Meval," the bailiff intoned. "This court is now in session. Let all who have petitions draw near."  
  
Meval entered, dressed in the traditional green robes of the Federation judiciary. Even as she sat down, she said, "Be seated. This is case number 80-0010, _United Federation of Planets vs. Chakotay of Dorvan_. The defendant is charged with multiple counts of mayhem, theft and destruction of Federation property. Mr. Fearnot, I understand you are willing to have the indictment read into the record?"  
  
The lawyer did not stand but sat a little straighter in his chair. "That is correct, your honor."  
  
"Bailiff, enter the indictment. Mr. Chakotay." Chakotay and Fearnot rose in unison, and the judge looked directly at them. "How do you plead?"  
  
Chakotay took a quick breath. "Guilty, your honor."  
  
She nodded once. "For the record, Mr. Chakotay, do you understand that by pleading guilty you are giving up your right to a trial before your peers?"  
  
"I do, your Honor."  
  
"And do you do this of your own free will, without coercion and duress from any party?"  
  
Chakotay nodded. "Yes."  
  
"Then this Court accepts your plea." She looked at Kanemeha, who stood. "I have before me the recommendation of the Prosecutor for sentencing, endorsed by the Defendant. Mr. Kanemeha, do you wish to make any amendments to this recommendation?"  
  
"No, your Honor." Kanemeha glanced to his left, then added, "The Prosecution is satisfied that its recommendation serves the interests of justice."  
  
Meval looked to Alex. "Mr. Fearnot. Does the Defense have any objections?"  
  
"No, your Honor."  
  
The judge seemed to sigh before speaking. "In that case, there is no need to delay sentencing. Mr. Chakotay, your record makes it clear that you are a man of honor, serving whatever cause you espouse with the best of your abilities. And while one might be tempted to note that time has proven the correctness of the Maquis logic, the fact remains that laws were broken, and without laws, we are little more than tyrants of anarchy or beasts of unreason. Therefore, it is my duty, though not my pleasure, to sentence you to serve three years in the Federation penal colony in New Zealand, with eligibility for parole in eighteen months. You are released on your own recognizance for the next forty-eight hours, but you will report to the Administrator of the Federation Penal Settlement at New Zealand no later than 9 o'clock a.m. local time on Thursday, February 21, 2380."  
  
She banged her gavel with a ceremonial thump. "This court is adjourned."  
  
In a swirl of green robes, she left the courtroom, followed by the bailiff. Kanemeha turned to the defense table and offered his hand to Alex Fearnot, and then to Chakotay. "It was my honor, gentlemen," he said. Then he turned to Kathryn, who was standing in the first row, separated by a short wooden banister from the defense table. "Captain Janeway. I regret we met under these circumstances."  
  
Kathryn nodded but said nothing. She felt as cold as if she had been turned to marble, as unable to speak as any statue. Kanemeha waited for a moment, then nodded and left by the center aisle.  
  
Alex encompassed them both in his gaze. "You'll want to leave quickly. The press release will go out in about ten minutes." He stretched both arms so that he touched each of them. "Go someplace private for the next two days. I'll meet you Thursday morning in Auckland."  
  
Chakotay tore his eyes away from Kathryn. "Alex. Thank you."  
  
"No. Don't thank me. I thought this was the right thing to do, but now--" He shook his head. "You do your family proud, son. You do us all proud." He squeezed with each hand, emphasizing his words, then turned and left.  
  
Tervan looked at Chakotay for several seconds, then put his hand on Cholo's shoulder. "We'll meet you at the aircar. Come on, son."  
  
Cholo started to protest but said nothing. As Tervan turned, though, the boy flung his arms around Chakotay's neck, hugged him briefly and then followed his father out.  
  
Kathryn and Chakotay stood in silence, the banister still between them. Then Kathryn held out her hand. He took it, and they walked up the aisle, linked arms, and walked out of the courtroom.  


  
**Wednesday, February 20, 2380, Lake George, New York  
(14:10 local time)**  
  
Kathryn started down the stairs of her cabin on Lake George but stopped halfway down. Chakotay stood at the large transparent wall facing the water and watched the snow fall on the delicate shelf of ice topping the surface. When they arrived yesterday, the region had been enjoying an unseasonably warm stretch of weather, and the lake was completely thawed. That changed overnight, and gentle flurries of snow had been falling by the time they woke in the morning. By mid-morning the pace and density of the snow increased. Now a good four inches had accumulated on the ground, and the lake itself was disappearing in the sea of whiteness. The bare black branches of the trees were a stark and lovely contrast to the purity of the snow.  
  
She continued to study him as she padded down the stairs in her stocking feet. He was dressed as she had rarely seen him on _Voyager_, in a cream-colored fisherman's sweater and jeans, wearing only thick socks on his feet. He looked fit enough to be in a fishing fleet, a strong man in repose. But it was the expression on his face that made her heart catch. She had never seen him look so ineffably sad. _The reality of the situation is hitting him_, she thought. Between her description of the conversation with Hayes and the reaction of others to the news, the finality of his decision was inescapable.  
  
"Did you make your calls?" she asked him quietly.  
  
He looked up and forced a smile. "Yes. My sister is _not_ pleased with me."  
  
She threaded her arm through his and looked out at the snow. "You didn't expect anything else."  
  
"I was hoping she'd understand." He stopped and stared outside. "Is that a blizzard yet?"  
  
"Hardly. It's just a snowstorm." She rubbed his arm lightly. "She'll come around, you know. It was just a shock."  
  
"I know. I probably should have told her sooner, but I knew how she'd react so I kept coming up with reasons not to." Then he shook his head like a wet dog, as if he could shake off the gloom that had captured him. "The other call went well, though. I spoke with Dr. Kensijo."  
  
She perked up. "Is he the Dean at the University of Chicago?"  
  
"No, he's the chairman of the Department of Anthropology. He's willing to accept me as an external student in the PhD program, even from the penal colony." His eyes glowed with enthusiasm. "He's approved my analysis of the influence of the Sky People for my dissertation."  
  
"That's wonderful!" It was more than wonderful--it was the only good news they had received all week. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "I'd say that calls for a celebration. Why don't you throw another log on the fire, and I'll open the wine."  
  
She hurried into the kitchen, leaving him in front of the large, open fireplace. There was a bottle of her favorite red wine on the sideboard, so she rummaged through the drawer to find the corkscrew. "You know," she said loudly enough to carry to the other room, "I've been thinking about my meeting with Admiral Hayes. I think I'll tell him I'd like a position at the Academy. 'Admiral Kathryn Janeway' has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"  
  
As she turned around with the open bottle in hand, she found him standing on the other side of the counter, glowering at her. "What?" she asked.  
  
"I don't want you to do that. Not because of me."  
  
"I'm not doing it for you." She deliberately kept her tone casual and continued with her task. "It's what I want."  
  
He shook his head. "No, it's not. Kathryn, we both know that if you take a desk job, you'll be bored in twelve months. And you don't handle boredom well. No, if you have a chance for another ship, you should take it."  
  
She didn't look at him as she poured the wine. "Everyone says that teaching cadets is anything but boring. Besides, I have no intention of giving up my conjugal visits."  
  
"You'd be an excellent teacher. But every time one of your classmates drops by with his ship, you'll be green with envy." Reaching across the counter he put a hand on her arm. "Kathryn. You're a born explorer. You'll go crazy if you stay Earth-bound. And besides, the conjugal visits are only offered to married couples."  
  
_Finally_, she thought as she stared back at him pointedly.  
  
For three seconds, he looked perplexed. Then for three seconds he looked stunned. Finally, he found his voice. "Are you proposing?"  
  
"No," she said with some asperity. "I am _hinting_. We're running out of time, you know. We've only got tomorrow left."  
  
He fell back a step and grinned at her with the goofiest expression she had ever seen on him. "You want to get married?"  
  
Lord, he was being dense. "I wouldn't be opposed to the idea, _if_ someone bothered to ask."  
  
Then he grinned, that devil's grin that always made the breath catch in her throat, and she realized he was teasing her. An answering smile crept over her face. "Take your time, we've got all night."  
  
"Good, because--"  
  
The insistent chirp of the communications unit interrupted him. The smile faded from Kathryn's face immediately. Only her mother and Tervan knew where they were, and they would only call in the event of an emergency.  
  
Chakotay was at her side as she turned the unit on. Almost at once, the screen lit with the face of Gretchen Janeway. "Mom?"  
  
"Kathryn, change this to the Federation News Network. Do it now! Call me later."  
  
Gretchen was using the tone of voice that even Admiral Edward Janeway had obeyed. Kathryn could do nothing else. With a touch of a control, the screen shifted to the FNN site. "...advised only moments ago of this press conference," a hushed voice said. The image on the monitor was of the press room of the President of the Federation.  
  
"What's happening?" Kathryn asked. "Are we under attack?" Chakotay said nothing but wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tightly against him.  
  
As they watched, the President of the Federation entered from a side door and stepped onto the podium_. If we're under attack_, Kathryn thought, _she looks damn calm._  
  
"Good evening," President M'Renn said, her tail twitching from side to side behind her head. "It was just two months ago when I stood on a similar podium to speak of the accomplishments of the crew of the starship _Voyager_. Tonight, I must speak again of that crew, for in their return, they have unintentionally opened wounds that had only just begun to heal.  
  
"I speak, of course, of the Maquis. Of the people who were the first to see the unwisdom of our attempt to appease the Cardassians and who refused to be pawns in the battle to come. They struck at the Federation and we responded with all the might at our disposal. We called them enemy, we hunted them, and when we found them, we either killed them or punished them."  
  
Kathryn tensed and felt Chakotay do the same. The President's words seemed hopeful, but Kathryn was almost afraid to hope. It would hurt too much to be wrong.  
  
The President continued, "The time has come to acknowledge, once and for all, that the Maquis were_ right_. The Federation discarded them as citizens and abandoned them to the occupation of a ruthless tyranny. In fighting back, they did nothing more than any of us would do to protect our homes and our families.  
  
"The time has come to acknowledge the mistake that was made and to reach out to the worlds who have not yet learned to trust the Federation again. The time has come to take a stand.  
  
"And therefore, earlier this evening I executed three documents. The first is a pardon for all persons convicted or charged with crimes against the Federation arising from their participation in the Maquis, excepting those convicted of treason or espionage. For all others, it shall be as if the conviction never happened. Those who are currently in prison shall be released with all due speed. Anyone who meets established eligibility criteria and wishes to enlist in Starfleet or to return to active duty will not be denied solely based upon their involvement with the Maquis.  
  
"The second document is a general amnesty for anyone who participated in the Maquis but has not yet been charged. This includes not only members of _Voyager_'s crew, but those who have feared to return to Earth or other Federation worlds. No one, no matter what their crime may have been, may be indicted, charged or prosecuted for their actions in the Maquis, unless they committed treason or espionage. That book is, finally and irrevocably, closed."  
  
Kathryn stood absolutely still, struggling to believe what she had just heard. Chakotay held on to her tightly, his head bowed until the President's words penetrated again, and then he snapped up to look at the screen.  
  
"...one more lesson from _Voyager_: redemption. In the past month, I have met with members of the _Voyager_ Family Association, the Talaxian Ambassador, the Vulcan Ambassador and several representatives of Starfleet Command. I have received countless letters from ordinary citizens as well as officers and councilors. It has been made clear to me that with courage, determination and integrity, one individual _can_ overcome past mistakes and earn a second chance. And so, the final document I signed this evening was signed in my capacity as Commander-In-Chief of Starfleet. In recognition of his dedication and performance of the past eight years, Starfleet is instructed to accept Thomas E. Paris as an officer in the regular service should he so apply."  
  
Kathryn whirled around to stare at the monitor again, never leaving the circle of Chakotay's arms. _Oh, Tom. But what about the others? What about the _Equinox_ crew?_  
  
"This is an extraordinary measure, but --" and for the first time, she smiled "--this is an extraordinary occasion. I do not expect we shall see its like in my lifetime. Tonight, we begin a new era. The call for justice for the wrongs of the past decade must now give way to the healing balm of mercy. Was it not Earth's greatest poet who said, 'we do pray for mercy, and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy'? Wise words, indeed. It is time we live them as well as memorize them. Good night."  
  
M'renn turned and left the podium, serenely ignoring the shouts of reporters. An announcer's voice began to speak, but Kathryn touched the control to terminate the connection. When she turned to face him, she could feel the sting of tears in her eyes. She started to say something, but she had no words. No words at all.  
  
Neither did he, apparently. He simply pulled her to him and held her.  
  
After a little while, she whispered, "We're home. We're finally home."  
  



	8. Epilogue

  
**EPILOGUE**  
  
**Monday, February 25, 2380, Spacedock**  
(1455 hours, Starfleet Standard time)  
  
Harry took one last look down the center concourse of Spacedock and decided he had waited as long as he could. His orders said to report to the _Enterprise_ at 15:00 hours, and he intended to be there at 15:00 hours on the dot. The scuttlebutt claimed Picard was a stickler for punctuality, and having met the man briefly, Harry found that easy to believe. With a twinge of regret he turned and started toward the docking ring.  
  
He hadn't gone twenty meters when he heard a familiar voice shouting behind him. "Harry! Harry, wait!"  
  
Wheeling, he saw Tom Paris loping down the concourse, arm in the air. B'Elanna and Miral were a few paces behind him. Harry hurried back to meet them.  
  
"I was afraid we'd missed you," Tom said as soon as Harry joined them. "Miral had a 'diaper incident' as soon as we arrived--B'Elanna had to wash her down and change her clothes."  
  
"You almost did. I have to be on board in four minutes." He tried for solemnity but lost the battle. With a huge grin, he adjusted his gray and black uniform jacket. "I still can't believe it."  
  
"Ops officer on the _Enterprise_." Tom shook his head. "Our Harry, on the senior staff of the flagship."  
  
With Will Riker leaving for his own command, Picard had promoted his second officer to the XO spot, leaving a vacancy at Ops. He had offered the position to Harry before anyone else. "I suspect Captain Janeway might have had something to do with it."  
  
B'Elanna, holding Miral, had caught up with them. "I wouldn't be surprised," she said. "You wanted to be on the fast track. I'd say this is it." She shifted Miral to her other hip and leaned in to give him a quick kiss. "Take care of yourself, Starfleet."  
  
He hugged her, baby and all. It didn't seem quite real that they were saying goodbye for at least a year, maybe longer. "You, too, Maquis.” Turning to Miral he added, "And you be good, sweetheart. Uncle Harry will see you in a while."  
  
"Har-ree." Miral reached out with both arms. "Want kiss."  
  
It was a ritual between them and he took her without hesitation. First he lifted her above his head before lowering her for a smacking wet kiss on her belly. Her gleeful laughter rang in the corridor.  
  
"Bye, bye, baby," he said as he handed her back to B'Elanna. Her eyes were suspiciously shiny, and he turned quickly to Tom. As he faced his closest friend, he discovered he didn't know how to say goodbye. "Tom, I--"  
  
"Yeah, I know," Tom said quietly. He held out his hand, then pulled Harry into a bear hug. "Buster Kincaid flies solo. Show 'em how it's done."  
  
Harry returned the hug, then with a thump on Tom's back, let go. "Thanks. For--well, for everything. I wish--but I gotta run."  
  
"Go on." B'Elanna smiled at him. "Just remember to write every once in a while."  
  
"Count on it." With a final brush of fingers against Miral's face, Harry turned and jogged down the concourse, trying to balance the sadness of the moment with the anticipation of the next.  
  
Tom watched him disappear around a corner and turned to find B'Elanna watching him. She said, "He'll be fine, you know."  
  
"I know. It's just weird, thinking about him on a different ship." Then he held his arms out to his daughter, who came to him happily. "And speaking of ships, we'd better get to ours. We still have to get through Security at the lower concourse."  
  
As they began to walk back toward the main hub, B'Elanna's mouth quirked. "Do you suppose Ensign Officious is on duty today?"  
  
Tom rolled his eyes. "I hope not. Or perhaps he won't recognize us."  
  
"Right. I'm sure he sees so many officers married to Klingons and traveling with a year-old daughter, we won't stand out at all." She shifted Miral to a different hip. "And he's not likely to forget the way you chewed him out."  
  
"I don't think we'll have any trouble today. Even if he hates my guts, I've got a full pip on him now, and you've got a pip and a half. He's not going to be insubordinate--"  
  
He was cut off when B'Elanna stopped walking and Miral grabbed his arm. "What is it?" he asked.  
  
"Did you hear that?" she asked, looking around the crowded corridor.  
  
Tom cocked his head. "What?"  
  
"Lieutenant Paris! Lieutenant Commander Torres!"  
  
"I heard _that_," Tom murmured. He turned to greet the enthusiastic caller. "Hello, Doctor."  
  
"Lieutenant Commander, actually." The EMH brushed his fingers across his collar, calling attention to the three pips attached there. "Lieutenant Commander Mark Lewis Zimmerman."  
  
"We heard," B'Elanna said. "Congratulations."  
  
"Thank you." The Doctor beamed at her. "I've been assigned to Starfleet Medical for the next six months. They want me to write a text on Delta Quadrant diseases. They probably want me to deliver a few lectures, too. Do you think the Vidiian phage or the Species 8472 infiltration would be more dramatic?"  
  
Tom repressed a shudder. He had a vivid recollection of two versions of B'Elanna, and of a Vidiian wearing Pete Durst's face. "Go for the phage. Definitely the better story."  
  
Miral grabbed a handful of B'Elanna's hair and yanked. "Doctor come too?"  
  
The Doctor's smile broadened as B'Elanna disentangled herself. "I wish I could, Miral. But you're going one way and I'm going another." He wiggled his fingers at her. "Are you on your way to Qo'noS?"  
  
"Exactly." B'Elanna couldn't help smiling at her daughter's happy reaction to the Doctor's flirting. "We're finally going to have Miral's acceptance ceremony, but we had to see Harry off first. We'll be back next month, though. Tom's going to be testing a new fighter design at the Australian facility."  
  
"And B'Elanna's going to be working with Admiral Drsvensek in Starship Design," Tom said proudly.  
  
"Then we will undoubtedly run into each other once you're back. We can have dinner together." With a final pat on Miral's head, he said, "Well, I need to be going--don't want to be late on the first day. Have a good trip."  
  
"You, too, Doc." Tom extended his hand. "Commander Zimmerman."  
  
If the Doctor had been a peacock, his tail would have been at full plumage. "Lieutenant Paris. Lieutenant Commander Torres. Miss Paris." He shook Tom's hand warmly and turned to make his way to the ground transport station to join the queue of those in need of transportation back to Earth. Transporters were reserved for emergencies and VIPs.  
  
Shuttles left Spacedock on a regular basis, so although the line was long, it moved quickly. The Doctor was content to study the tide of people around him. There were hundreds in Starfleet uniforms, but also a large number of civilians, diplomats or family members, whose clothing lent spots of color to the sea of gray and black. It was very orderly and somehow very alive, rather like a circulatory system in motion. He was happy to have an unquestionable right to be part of it all.  
  
Then he smiled as he saw a familiar face enter the station from the shuttle staging area. "Tuvok!" he called, waving.  
  
Tuvok, dressed in dark Vulcan robes, heard him immediately and murmured something to his wife, who was at his side. They both came over to speak with the Doctor. "Lieutenant Commander Zimmerman," Tuvok said with his usual formality. "You remember she who is my wife."  
  
"T'Pel." He bowed slightly at the waist. "It's good to see you again. Are you finally on your way to Vulcan?"  
  
"Yes. I am officially on leave for the next six weeks. I assume you are on your way to Starfleet Medical?"  
  
"Oh. You heard about that?" He couldn't decide whether he was disappointed that he wasn't the one to break the news or flattered because he had been included in the _Voyager_ grapevine.  
  
"Captain Janeway told me. Congratulations on this assignment, and on your other legal victories."  
  
The Doctor beamed at him. "Yes, it turned out well, didn't it? Actually, it turned out well for most of us. I just ran into Tom and B'Elanna, and they had just said goodbye to Harry. Oh, and congratulations to you on your promotion. What's next for you?"  
  
Tuvok glanced at T'Pel. "Beyond an extended visit with my family, that remains to be decided." He paused, then added, "You may wish to contact Neelix soon after your arrival. He remains the best source for news about the crew, and Sarexa would be grateful to hear from a friend."  
  
"Of course," The Doctor looked up and realized that the line had moved so quickly that he was about to enter the staging area. "Oh, dear. Looks like I'm out of time." He raised his right hand in the traditional Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper, Tuvok, T'Pel."  
  
Tuvok lifted his hand in response. "And you, Doctor."  
  
As the physician disappeared through the doors, Tuvok turned to his wife. "Come. Our transport is undoubtedly ready for boarding."  
  
T'Pel fell into step beside him. "Is that the answer you will give to Kathryn if she asks about your plans?"  
  
"I doubt that she will ask while she is still on leave herself, but if she does, yes. My answer will be the same." He looked at her. "She is at a similar point in her life. She will understand that it is too soon to make long-term decisions."  
  
"Perhaps," T'Pel said. "In truth, husband, I understand her uncertainty more than yours."  
  
He frowned. "Do you doubt my desire to remain with you and our family? Or my need to steep my soul on Vulcan for a time?"  
  
"Not in the least. But I cannot see that need lasting more than a few months. And then, I think, your sense of duty and your curiosity about the unknown will begin to conflict again."  
  
"It is not duty alone that prompts my wish to remain close to our family," he said stiffly.  
  
"Of course not. But you are one of the few of our people, my husband, who is truly of two worlds: Vulcan, and the greater 'world' of the galaxy beyond. You can serve Vulcan from the galaxy, but you cannot serve the galaxy on Vulcan." Her eyes softened. "We can talk of this later. For now, I am pleased to have you home again."  
  
Tuvok did not agree with her. There were many ways he could advance the Federation if he remained on Vulcan. However, this was neither the time nor the place to begin such a debate, and in any case, he did not want to alter the contented expression on her face. He glanced at her often as they walked, noting that the passage of years only added to her serenity.  
  
They were unaware that they were being watched by a couple standing on the mezzanine above the main level. Kathryn and Chakotay, both in civilian clothes, stood at the rail and watched the tide of people below. Kathryn's gaze was fixed on the tall Vulcan. "We can still catch them if you want to," Chakotay said to her.  
  
"No, we said our goodbyes last night. We'll see them when we get back next month." She smiled sadly. "I'd forgotten this--the coming, the going, the quick goodbyes and surprise hellos. I guess if anything sums up the transience of life in Starfleet, this is it."  
  
He folded his hand over hers. "It's not completely transient, or you wouldn't see so many scenes like that one." With a nod, he directed her attention to a small reunion on the main floor. Two officers, clearly surprised to see each other, were thumping each other on the back and speaking animatedly. "There are ties that survive distance and time, even in Starfleet."  
  
"Family," she murmured. "And ours is scattering. It's inevitable, I guess."  
  
"Scattered, but not broken. We went through too much together. _Voyager_'s crew will always be a family, no matter what else happens in the future."  
  
"Hmph. The future." There was still so much up in the air. Would Starfleet offer her a ship, or not? Did she want one, or not?  
  
Even as she asked herself the question, she knew the answer. She wanted to be out there, out among the stars again. Standing here in Spacedock, she could feel their pull like a lifeline. But she couldn't consider herself alone any longer. Would Chakotay stay in the service or not? And if he didn't, would he want to stay on Dorvan? And would Chakotay's sister like her?  
  
Too many questions and not enough answers. With a shake of her head, she added, "Right now the only thing that is certain about our future is that if don't get on board the _McAuliffe,_ it will leave without us--and if we don't make it to Dorvan in time for your nephew's naming ceremony, your sister will never forgive me."  
  
"She'll forgive you," he said, his eyes twinkling. "At this point, she'd forgive any woman foolish enough to agree to be my wife."  
  
She raked her eyes over him as she reached and fingered the edge of his well-tailored but definitely civilian jacket. "Sooner or later, you're going to have to make a decision about Starfleet, you know."  
  
He grinned at her, a full, two-dimpled grin that made his eyes sparkle. "I'll make mine as soon as you make yours."  
  
"It's a deal. Now come on, let's get going." She picked up the duffel bag at her feet and slung it over her shoulder. "Are you with me?"  
  
He picked up his bag without letting go of her hand. "Always."  


**_the end (for now)_**  


****   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A VVS7.5 "Short Subject" Interlude immediately follows this episode: **"Wigglewort," by Christina**\-- Kathryn won't feel truly at home until she meets up with a very dear friend.
> 
> **Words in Yucatec, Chakotay's native language**  
suku'un -- brother  
in yaabilmech-- I love you


	9. Wigglewort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A VVS7.5 "Short Subject" Interlude: "Wigglewort," by Christina-- Kathryn won't feel truly at home until she meets up with a very dear friend.

**Voyager Virtual Season 7.5 Episode 32b****  
  
****Wigglewort**

  
An "In the Course of Justice" short**  
  
By Christina**  
  
---  
  
Kathryn knelt down and the Irish Setter puppy immediately climbed into her arms, wriggling happily and wagging its tail. Kathryn kissed the silken ears before looking up. "She's adorable, Mark. What's her name?"  
  
"We call her Wigglewort right now," began Mark, but his wife cut him off.  
  
"But her real name is Patty's Pride," Jennifer finished with a knowing smile.  
  
Kathryn grinned in return. Mark's sister probably didn't appreciate the puppy bearing her name. "Wigglewort certainly seems appropriate for this little squirmer." She stroked the puppy's head. "As I recall, we went through the same 'nickname versus proper name' thing with Molly."  
  
"You mean Bear," Mark corrected.  
  
"You see?" Kathryn glanced around. "And speaking of *Molly*, I can't thank you enough for keeping her and taking care of her for me, even after I..." she paused, "I was no longer around."  
  
"It was my pleasure," Mark said firmly. He added, "despite the fate of my nice white carpets."  
  
"I really am sorry about that, Mark, but I always told you white wasn't a very practical color," Kathryn said. "Speaking of my dear dog, where is she?" Kathryn noticed the immediate frown on Jennifer's face and quickly added, "But as I said when I spoke to you earlier, I'm sure after all this time Molly thinks of this as her home and it wouldn't be fair to take her away, so you don't have to worry..."  
  
Jennifer glanced sharply at Mark. "You didn't tell her?"  
  
"Tell me what?" Kathryn asked.  
  
Mark knelt down next to her. "I'm sorry, Kathryn, I should have told you this earlier, but I just couldn't do it over a comm line. I thought it would be better in person." He took a deep breath. "Molly became really sick about two years ago. We did everything we could, but despite all the treatments, she was still suffering, still in a lot of pain. And so we decided it would be better to just let her go."  
  
Kathryn looked at him in shock, unwilling to accept what he was saying. Molly, her beloved dog, was dead?  
  
"She had a good life, Kathryn," Jennifer said softly. "Wigglewort is one of Molly's granddaughters. We kept a few of the puppies from each litter."  
  
Kathryn's arms tightened convulsively around the puppy in her arms. "I see." She bent her head, feeling the sudden rush of tears into her eyes. She had been really looking forward to seeing Molly again, concentrating on that aspect of her reunion with Mark almost to the exclusion of anything else. Not just to cover the awkwardness of seeing her former fiancé married to another woman, but because she had truly missed her beloved canine companion.  
  
Wigglewort whined and began licking Kathryn's jaw. She smiled briefly through her tears. Molly had also known whenever she was feeling particularly sad. The puppy eventually tired of the activity and, true to her name, wiggled off Kathryn's lap and ran to the door.  
  
Mark held out his hand. Kathryn forced a smile as she took it and stood. "Thank you." She brushed off her uniform and began making her way to the door. "I really appreciate your inviting me over. It was good seeing you again."  
  
"The same here, Kathryn," he said.  
  
Kathryn turned to Jennifer. "And it was nice to meet you."  
  
Jennifer smiled and nodded.  
  
Mark slipped his arm around his wife and gave her a slight squeeze. "By the way, I understand congratulations are in order. I heard that you're getting married."  
  
Kathryn smiled, a genuine expression this time. "Yes, Chakotay and I are engaged, but we haven't made an official announcement yet, or set a date. Considering everything else that's been going on recently in our lives, we decided to wait a bit."  
  
"Politics, I know." Mark shook his head. "I know that not everyone was pleased to hear about the Maquis pardons."  
  
"Yes, but now that it's an accomplished fact, they'll have to learn to live with it."  
  
Mark handed her an album as they reached the front door. She looked up at him questioningly.  
  
"This is for you," Mark said. "Jen and I put it together when we'd heard _Voyager_ had returned."  
  
Kathryn opened it and blinked several times to hold back a fresh wave of tears. The album was full of pictures of Molly, her puppies, and more puppies. "Mark, I can't thank you enough."  
  
"No thanks are necessary," he said quietly. "It's the least I could do."  
  
#  
  
"Sorry I'm late."  
  
Chakotay looked up as Kathryn slipped into the booth at the Night Owl. He frowned. After so many years, he could tell when something was bothering her. Without any preamble, he asked, "What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing...really."  
  
He raised an eyebrow but decided not to pursue it. "How was your meeting with Mark?"  
  
"It went well." Chakotay was glad to see her relax as she went on, "Of course, it was a little strange seeing him again, but any awkwardness was quickly smoothed over. After all, we were friends for a long time before we became romantically involved."  
  
Chakotay nodded. "That's good to hear."  
  
"His wife, Jennifer, is very nice and they seem very happy. She's a psychologist, by the way."  
  
He nodded again. "And how are the dogs?"  
  
"They have the cutest puppy. Looks just like Molly did at that age..." Her voice faded away. Chakotay waited, knowing instinctively that whatever was bothering her would come out now. "But Molly...she died two years ago. Damn it, Chakotay, she was only nine...only nine years old." She blotted at her eyes and then said wistfully, "I just wish I could have seen her again."  
  
He reached out across the table to her and patted her hand comfortingly. Kathryn tried to smile as she placed an album on the table top. "Mark and Jennifer put this together for me. It's pictures of Molly and her puppies." She pulled her hand away from his and opened the book to the last page. "This is Wigglewort."  
  
"She's very cute." Chakotay hesitated. "Do you want another dog, Kathryn?"  
  
She shook her head. "I should never have gotten Molly in the first place. She deserved better than a Starfleet captain who was away most of the time. I couldn't even be there when she died."  
  
Chakotay got up and slid around the bench till he was next to her. He put a comforting arm around her. "I know you really wanted to see her again, Kathryn. Besides the fact that you loved her so much, she was your link to your past. Of everything you'd had before."  
  
"Yes." Her voice was muffled against his chest.  
  
He fell silent, suddenly reminded of the legend of Odysseus, King of Ithaca, who was away from home for ten years to fight the Trojan War, and then spent another ten years trying to get back home. After many trials and tribulations, he was finally reunited with his wife Penelope, and all he'd lost was restored to him. Even his hound Argos lived just long enough to see him return. But as similar as _Voyager's_ journey was to the epic tale, Mark's marriage had meant Kathryn's own odyssey would not end with a Penelope waiting faithfully for her return. And now, with Molly's death, she didn't even have the comfort of an Argos.  
  
But he didn't say any of this out loud. Kathryn Janeway was not given to self-pity and would certainly reject any comparisons or talk of heroism. Instead, he said, "You could always take a new dog with you on your next assignment. Dogs have a long history in Starfleet, you know."  
  
She sat up abruptly and busied herself with the menu. "If you're referring to that apocryphal story about Jonathan Archer and his beagle on the first Enterprise...anyway, Molly hated space flight. I took her with me once to Luna City and it was _not_ a pleasant experience. And it's a good thing she wasn't with me on _Voyage_-. I'm sure she would have hated leola root."  
  
Chakotay chuckled. "That only proves she had good taste. But think about it, Kathryn-maybe one of Molly's grandpuppies would be different?"  
  
"We'll see," she said briskly. "In the meantime, of course, this whole discussion is moot, as I'm assigned to teach at the Academy till further notice."  
  
"Admiral Hayes said six months," he reminded her. "You'll be back in space one day." He flashed her a grin. "I guarantee it."  
  
She smiled, but waved his words away. "Are you ready to order?"  
  
"Sounds like a good idea." He glanced at his chronometer and added ruefully, "as a matter of fact, I have to leave within the next five minutes if I'm going to be on time for my interview."  
  
"You certainly don't want to be late. One of the things I heard about Dr. Jones, aside from his fascination with Sherman's Planet, is that he's a stickler for punctuality."  
  
Chakotay smiled. "We'll talk later, I promise. And remember, tomorrow we're having dinner at your mother's house."  
  
"How could I forget?" Kathryn said. She stood to kiss him goodbye. "I still don't know why anyone would want to go to Sherman's Planet...the only thing there is wheat."  
  
He laughed. "It's not just any wheat. Quadrotriticale--it's a special hybrid. And there are some fascinating ruins beyond those _wheat_ fields."  
  
"Point taken." Kathryn reached up and lightly traced the tattoo on his temple. "Chakotay, thank you."  
  
"For what?" he said with a smile.  
  
"Just for being you. My life may not have turned out the way I envisioned it all those years ago, but I've been very lucky all the same."  


The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: A note about the timeline: "Wigglewort" takes place about 6 weeks after the end of "In the Course of Justice." 
> 
> "Wigglewort," "Truth and ConseQuences," and "Altruistic Motives" actually take place during the same time period as our next story, "Reconstruction Blues." Together, these stories show what happened during that first year, including the period BEFORE Truth and ConseQuences. 
> 
> Thanks to Rocky for the excellent beta.

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the 7.5 Team at the end of our second season, July 2002:  
We started this project because we loved the potential we saw in Star Trek: Voyager, which we thought went largely unfulfilled on screen. After more than a year of producing "episodes" an average of every other week, we are more in love with these characters than ever. We're going to take some time off now, but we'll be back. In the meantime, perhaps you as a reader, can share our inspiration. It comes from the dedication plaque of the Starship Voyager, and includes a few extra lines from the poem that is its source:
> 
> "For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see,  
Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be;  
Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails,  
Pilots of the purple twilight dropping down with costly bales;  
Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'd a ghastly dew
> 
> From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue;  
Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm,  
With the standards of the peoples plunging thro' the thunder-storm;  
Till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle-flags were furl'd  
In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.  
There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe,  
And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapped in universal law."
> 
> (from "Locksley Hall" by Alfred Lord Tennyson)
> 
> Our July 2002 Voyager Virtual Season 7.5 Staff: Christina, Cybermum, Jamelia, Julie, Monkee, Penny, Rocky, Sara, Jackee, Andra Marie, DianeS, and Rick. (Our current staff isn't taking a break. ☺ )
> 
> **Up next: “Reconstruction Blues” by the Voyager Virtual Season 7.5 Staff. ** After being together for eight long years, the Voyager crew scattered in several directions as each person set off to pursue a different path upon their return home. Over the course of the next year, what have they all been up to? How have they reconstructed their lives in the Alpha Quadrant?


End file.
